Oh God, Now What?
by PheonRen
Summary: Wandering, drunken Alistair saves a strange woman in the forest. Suddenly, nothing is what it seems. All that he has been taught will be challenged, and the world may never be the same again. Adult themes, sexual content, violence, Rated MA. m/f
1. Awakening

**Dedication**

_I would like to dedicate this story to those who have been so generous and kind as to post reviews and comments to my other stories. I love to get reviews and look forward to each and every one. Additionally, my appreciation to those who favorite or subscribe, too._

_A special thanks to alyssacousland (whose name I shall one day spell correctly, I'm certain of it!) for all that she has done for me. She's a dear lady, and I'm grateful for all that she has helped me with._

_This story is based on the Dragon Age universe, which is the intellectual property of Bioware corporation. No infringement is intended or implied.  
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**Part 1: Awakening**

She could feel them; hideous, dark, and foul. They battered at her mind, driving her towards despair and madness. They hammered and pushed, seeking entry, and with it—domination.

So far, it had been only mental, this intrusion, this violating, this rapacious, cruel invasion. But she was beginning to wake from her slumber, the sounds of grating stone screaming across her eardrums like a dull knife sawing at delicate skin.

Something skittered and chittered out there beyond her chamber; something vile and reprehensible—something deadly, dangerous, and vile. It was coming for her. Seeking her like a beacon in the darkest part of night.

Whatever it was, it was utter darkness. It was depravity mixed with loathing and seasoned with violence.

This encroaching, rolling horde of… something… distressed her. Somehow, she knew it threatened her, and that it was her it sought. It was hideously primitive, a sort of sucking, raw hole that tried to drag her mind, kicking and screaming, into a painful abyss.

It was encroaching so firmly upon her that she could barely think. She could barely function. Some undying, intuitive sense inside of her warned her to flee—to escape before it was too late.

If they found her, she knew, they would rape her—mind, body, and soul. She would become… like them. She would be warped into a twisted and obscene thing of darkness, hate, violence, and fury.

So it was that Velistara stretched towards the top of her chamber, and began to dig through the ground. She went straight up, in hopes that the encroaching monstrous sea of perversity would be unable to follow.

She dug for months, resting and then digging again. While she was in stasis, she had been able to preserve her body, but now that she was awake, and engaging in physical exertion; hunger, the fast decreasing oxygen loss, and fatigue pulled at her.

The further she worked, the more distant the terrifying scrambling of the perversity became. Despite this, she began to fear for her life as her great claws dug their way through stone and dirt. The air that had followed her up from her chamber was running out. She had enough of the oxygen-producing lichen on her skin to keep her alive, but only if she were in hibernation. It was not keeping up, and it was being rubbed away or killed by her frantic digging.

She couldn't hibernate now, either, or she would surely perish. Not only because there was no longer enough lichen, but because her position put too much pressure on her internal organs.

So she pushed upwards in desperation, clawing and seeking. She could sense the surface nearing, and hope surged in her. But the air was running out faster than she could dig.

Suddenly, she wanted to live more than she wanted anything in the world. She wanted to live!

"Please!" she thought in deep despair, knowing there was no one to hear her, "oh, please, don't let me die! Not like this!"

Then she was gasping for air and felt the overwhelming sense of impending death. As darkness was beginning to overwhelm her, she thought she heard, "Huh? What?"

She was overcome with vaguely perverse amusement. How ironic. She was dying and she sounded like an idiot.

"Hey! I'm not an idiot, thank you very much…"

"Help me!" she cried, feeling the first sense that perhaps it wasn't her own thought at all… "Oh please, help me! Don't let me die like this!"

**oOoOoOo**

Alistair sat up, holding his reeling head. Ugh, what the hell? He'd had a lot of Darkspawn dreams over the last few months. He had even begun to think that perhaps he was going to have to go to Orzammar soon.

The thought had been a relief, and he'd actually started heading that way. But then he'd decided, for no reason he could figure out, to take a pit stop in the Brecilian Forest instead.

Now, he was running out of booze, his head was pounding, and he was talking to himself about dying.

How morbid.

And as usual, he called himself an idiot.

"Help me! Oh please, help me! Don't let me die like this!"

What in the Fade? He clutched his aching head and tried to shake the otherworldly feeling that was falling over him.

Suddenly, he felt his air cut off. He was dying. He dropped onto his bedroll and a powerful, deep terror gripped him. He saw strangely glowing dirt walls all around him, with vivid clarity.

He felt darkness closing in on him. It overwhelmed him and his heart roared in his chest, a slow, deep, resonant booming.

What in the Fade?

He suddenly found himself lying once again on his bedroll, gasping and choking and straining. He grabbed his chest, ignoring the beard that laid on it and felt himself. He was alive!

Then, he realized that something wasn't right. He picked up his sword and stabbed it into the stone of the plateau he was on. He began to dig into it with a frenzy he was totally unaware of. The sword dulled, but he didn't care. He dug and dug, ignoring the pounding in his head. When his sword snapped, he sought furiously in his pack, finding an axe that he'd taken from a bandit who had wanted the sword he'd just destroyed…

Hours later, sweat dripping off of him and weariness straining his muscles, he struck emptiness. He opened the hole further, trying to see what was in it, but night had come while he labored, and he could see nothing.

Yet the sense of urgency had left him, just like that. Staggering, he wandered back to his blanket. He'd made a hole big enough that, tomorrow, he could climb down and see what was there. It would have to do for now, as he was afraid he would fall into it if he tried to keep going.

**oOoOoOo**

She awoke, at first thinking she had perished and was in the Fade. But she could feel stone pressing around her, and she wondered in amazement. How could this be?

What was to her a brilliant light flooded down upon her, and she stared in astonishment. Then it struck her: Air! She had AIR! She struggled with the realization. A moment later, she realized the light was coming from a crudely dug hole beside her head, and that was why only one eye could make out the luminescence pouring in through it.

Gasping and heaving, she fought to free herself and dig further, but she had settled downwards after passing out. She couldn't dislodge her upper legs from where they were pinned.

She was trapped by her own weight.

She searched the area around her, hoping to contact again the intelligence—or almost-intelligence—that she'd felt before she lost awareness.

To her surprise, she found it, quite nearby, and obviously in a state of hibernation. She probed gently at it, but it seemed locked into hibernation, and she was unable to call it back to sentience. It was, she realized, walking in the Fade.

She closed her eyes and slipped into the Fade as well, following the wisp of intelligence she found in the hibernating mind.

Then she was there, and saw her savior for the first time-at least, she assumed it was he. It was, she was certain, a male. Human, the thought rose unbidden. She hadn't associated with the humans for nearly as long as the others had, but she was sure that was what he was, despite the hundreds of years since she'd last seen one.

She watched him. He seemed to be some kind of warrior or fighter. His hair was short, his chin covered in a light peppering of stubble. He seemed to be reliving some battle or other, in which he was the grand Hero. It was, she noticed, mostly fabricated.

She studied him further, convinced that he was indeed male. But it really didn't matter, she would simply model her form after his, and she would be able to crawl out of the hole he had made, she was reasonably certain. Then she would go back to normal, and be on her way.

It should be simple enough to copy him, she thought, and exited the Fade without informing him she was there.

Slowly, she sank into a pre-hibernation state, and began to speak to her body. It altered and reformed. She ignored the pain as it twisted, and much of her bulk was shoved into another dimension.

Then she was falling. She screamed and scrabbled for purchase, finally managing to catch herself. She cried out for help, but found that this time, she couldn't contact the mind outside.

Terror and desperation ran through her, as she felt her grip beginning to slip.

"Hello?" a voice said, bleary with sleep.

"Help!" she screamed, surprised to find that it came from her mouth, not from her mind. Was this how these creatures communicated?

A face appeared, covered in long, matted fur. Something unpleasant struck her, and she realized it was a foul odor coming from the furry face. She was grateful for the limited abilities of this body for the moment.

A hand grasped hers and she was dragged from the hole. It was incredibly painful, and she found herself making sounds of protest against her will. She had never felt anything like this!

"Whoa! What were you doing in there?" the male asked, then suddenly looked away from her, what she could see of skin around his fur changing color from whitish to pinkish. Somehow, she thought was significant as some long-forgotten memory stirred in her.

"What is wrong?" she asked the furry human.

"You're… you don't have any clothes on," he told her.

"Clothes?"

He rubbed his eyes with his hands. "Clothes? You know. Clothes." He said, and plucked at the fur-like, loose skin over his body.

"That is not skin?" she asked him.

"Noooo…" he drawled. "It's clothes."

"I have no such items," she explained.

"I noticed," he grumbled, and she was surprised to note that she only barely heard him. It should have been quite loud. What was wrong with her? Oh yes, human senses.

She decided that she should go back to her natural form, and tried to sink into pre-hibernation.

The discomfort of the body she was wearing kept intruding. She quelling a rising sense of panic.

"Here, take this," the furry man said.

He handed her some of the 'clothes,' and she began to turn it around and up and down. She found the largest hole and stick her head into it. Then she sought the other hole and, finding it, tried to jam her head into it.

Finding this to be immensely frustrating, she turned it over and tried again, this time poking her head through the small hole first.

"This is not working," she said after her fourth attempt, when she was trussed up like she'd been in the cave a few minutes ago, and couldn't move enough to pull it off again. "I do not wish clothes. Please assist me in removing it. It is offensive."

The furry man seemed to be conflicted between looking at her or not. Finally, realizing he would have to look at her to see what she needed, he did so. Then he began to make strange barking noises.

He was, this strange behavior confirmed to her, not very clever. She wished she'd found a more intelligent creature to assist her, but sadly, she had not.

"Please assist me in removing this. I am trapped once more, and it is most distressing."

He came over and started pushing and pulling on the garment. "You've got it on inside out, and you're supposed to put your arms into the armholes," he told her.

Arms? Ah, forelegs. "I do not wish to put my forelegs into holes," she told him. "This entire concept of 'clothing' is foolishness."

"You can't walk around without clothes on," he told her, his voice sounding strange and clipped.

"Certainly, I can. I was doing so before you insisted I put this silly item on," she replied, hoping that he wasn't the brightest of the bunch.

"You're… not entirely sane, are you?" he asked her, and this time she thought she recognized wariness.

"I do not understand this concept," she told him. "Therefor, I cannot answer your question at this time. I do not wish to keep this item on my body. My hind legs are getting caught in it."

"Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but you really should just say 'arms' and 'legs,' unless you want to end up in the Chantry asylum. And you should wear the robe. I'll try to take it up some if I can find something to tie it with. You're kinda short."

"Well, he must have been shorter than you, then," she replied to the furry man, thinking that she resembled the person she saw in the Fade. "Where is he, by the way?" she asked.

"He who?"

"The other human male. The less furry one."

"I don't know what you're talking about. But let's get you to the Chantry. Redcliffe Village isn't too far away."

"I do not wish to go to your 'Chantry'," she told him. "If I can get some time to sit and be still, I will return to my natural form and depart. Thus your clothes are not required, either."

"Somehow I doubt that. But go ahead, try it." He sat down and leaned back against a log across from her.

She sat down and began to try to enter the proper state again, but her new body was aching in the center. She found it surprisingly distracting.

"I think that I require sustenance," she told him after some time had passed.

"I'm sure that's all it is," he said, and she stared at him. He sounded… she wasn't sure what. Not nice.

"I tell you what. If I give you some food, and you still can't do it, will you wear the robe and go to the Chantry with me?"

"Very well," she agreed, certain that once she was no longer aching in the middle, it would be a simple issue to return to her natural form.


	2. Getting to Know You

**Part 2: Getting to Know You**

She was entirely wrong. She sat and tried to enter into a pre-hibernation state, but the furry man sat across from her, coughing and snorting and making disgusting drinking sounds.

Were all humans so… loud?

"I cannot enter a trance while you are making those disgusting noises," she said, looking at him in irritation.

"Oh?" he said. Then he made another rude, disgusting sound, and made strange, amused barking sounds. She caught a very unpleasant odor, and he repeated the strange sounds in response to the look on her face.

Fortunately, however, he got up and walked away. She settled back in and tried once more to enter the proper state, but there were sounds all around. She had become so used to the underground and its nearly pure silence that it was all loud here. Loud, loud, loud!

Some kind of chirping noise—birds? An odd roaring, rushing sound that reminded her a bit of the few sounds she could hear underground—but this must be wind.

He returned after a while, and said, "Hey, look, it worked!"

She jerked her head up to stare at him. "What?"

"Look, it's your natural form!"

She looked down in surprise, she still felt—

She was still in a human-like form, although she hadn't done a very good job of it, it would seem. She hadn't really noticed before, but her shape differed a fair degree from his, and even from the human male in the Fade.

Shocked, she stared at herself. "This is not my proper form, either!" she exclaimed.

He started making that strange sound again. "What were you expecting?"

"I should look more like the man in the Fade," she told him. "But I seem to have made some errors. These are protruding inappropriately." She grasped the offending objects sticking out from what should have been a flat, wide chest.

Her companion immediately became flustered, "You really shouldn't… uh. You shouldn't do that where others can see it. But then, you probably know that already, don't you?" he went on. "You're punishing me for farting earlier, aren't you? Look, I know that was rude, but—"

"Farting?" she asked. She realized that she knew the word, having found the memories in the man's mind while in the fade, but the concept attached to it was quite bizarre. "Making air from your rectum? That explains why it was unpleasantly scented," she went on, no longer looking at him, but rather considering this peculiar concept.

"Er, anyway. Getting back to the other idea… if you modeled yourself after a man, you did a really bad job. I mean, probably the worst shapeshifting job in history," he told her, sitting back down on the ground and leaning back with his foreleg draped over the log.

She couldn't help but to stare at him.

"I guess you're right," she said, looking back down and poking and prodding, trying to get the soft protrusions to go back into place.

He made a strangled noise. "Stop that!"

"Why?"

"It's very… distracting," he told her. "Anyway, you failed to make yourself a man. You're a woman." At her blank look, he told her, "Female. You're a female."

"Well," she said, considering. "I suppose that's a good point. I am female. I'm surprised, though. I don't actually recall what a female human looks like. Not very well. I did not expect it to automatically translate my sex into my human form." She looked up at him. "It's been a few hundred years, you know."

"Oh, of course," he told her, waving a sword around before going back to running a rock up and down it. "Naturally." Humans, it would seem, had strange hobbies.

"I am glad you understand," she said. "I am most disconcerted by this whole thing."

"Yes," he drawled. "I can see how you might find this whole thing disconcerting. Imagine that. And here I thought I should be the one to feel a bit… disconcerted."

"Hmm, I suppose you have a point," she told him. "I am sure it is not every day that you meet one of my kind. Or at least, for your sake, I certainly hope not. Not all of us are friendly, you see."

"No, I can safely admit that I rarely meet crazy people," he said. "I'll leave it to your superior knowledge of whether or not crazy people are usually friendly."

"That is not at all what I meant."

"Of course not," he said, almost pleasantly. "Let's go. I'll walk you to Redcliffe Village."

"I do not wish—"

"You promised," he told her.

She sighed. "Very well. Lead on."

He took off walking. "Besides, I could really use more whiskey."

He pulled a small item out of his pack and took part of it off. She realized that this object was a bottle. When he opened it, she smelled a strong, unpleasant odor. Although she was in human form, she immediately recognized that it was a dangerous substance.

She grabbed it out of his hand and threw it, bottle and all, against a tree. It made a strange sound and broke apart.

"What the—" he yelled. "What was that all about? You had no right!"

"That will kill you. It is poison," she told him.

"It's not poison, it's just whiskey." His face was contorted with suppressed rage.

"Then whiskey is poison," she told him. "It would be a bad idea to continue to consume it. It will eventually kill you."

"That's not your business," he told her, anger clear in his voice. She was proud of herself; she was starting to understand this odd creature's emotional twists and turns. He wasn't very stable.

"It certainly is. If you are to escort me about, then does it not behoove me to ensure that you do not poison yourself?"

"Why am I arguing logic with a crazy person?" he asked her.

"You are not," she replied. "I am surprised you are even trying to call that 'logic,' unless my understanding of the concept is entirely flawed. Concepts are much harder to gain knowledge of than are objects," she finished.

"You're the single strangest person I've ever met in my entire life," the furry male told her.

"How old are you?" she inquired, curious now. He must certainly be very old to make such a comment.

"Thirty," he said.

She looked at him in surprise. "Thirty centuries? That makes you three thousand years old, does it not?" she tried to wrap her mind around such a lifespan in a human. She'd always been taught that these creatures were short lived!

He looked at her and then started making that strange barking nose. Ah, 'laughter,' was what it was. Most peculiar, really.

"Thirty _years_ old, not centuries," he told her between barking noises.

"You are newly hatched, then," she told him. "So you have plenty of time to meet strange people. You need not feel overly concerned."

"I doubt that, even if I live to be three thousand, I'll ever meet anyone stranger than you."

"Well, I suppose you do not really know yourself, then, do you?"

"Is that a joke? Did you just make a joke?" he asked her.

"Something said to provoke amusement? No. I was not attempting to provoke amusement."

"I really want my whiskey back," he said, his voice strange and soft.

Another of his strange moods. It seemed he changed moods faster than water dripped in the cavern she'd been forced to flee. Strange, indeed. She hoped that she would be able to shift back soon. Very soon.


	3. How Insanity Brings Us Together

**Part 3: How Insanity Brings Us Together**

"My name is Alistair," the furry man told her.

She blinked at him for a moment. Name? Ah yes, name. "My name is…" she hesitated. How could she put her name into human tongue? It was a concept more than anything. "I believe the humans called me Velistara," she said after some thought. "So you may call me that."

He stopped walking and looked at her. "You named yourself after a fabled dragon?" he asked.

"No," she said, feeling surprisingly impatient-perhaps that came of not speaking to any living being for hundreds of years. "That _is_ my name, and I am no fable."

"You're trying to tell me that you're a dragon?" he asked her. He laughed again and shook his head.

"I am not trying to tell you so, I am telling you so. Did you not know this when you dug me out?"

"No," he told her, suddenly feeling irritated by it all. "And I wouldn't have dug you out at all, if I'd known that you were nuttier than an almond tree."

She looked away, and he sighed. Why must he always be an ass? And why did the single most beautiful woman he'd ever seen have to turn out to also be the most insane person he'd ever, ever, in all his life, even heard of?

He couldn't remember, though. Was he safer playing into her delusions, or safer trying to talk her out of them?

"I'm sorry," he tried to run a hand through his matted hair. "That was really cruel, and I shouldn't have said it. It's not true, either."

"I am not upset by your words. Becoming hurt by someone who is ignorant is something I have not done for many centuries. To you, I look only as a human female—a woman. I can not judge you for seeing only what you see. You are too young to be wise enough to recognize that not everything is what it seems to be."

"I really don't like you," he told her. "I mean, really. How do you manage to say something that somehow seems like it should be nice, and make it sound like a complete insult?"

"There is no additional meaning to my words, Alistair. They mean exactly what they mean, and nothing more or less. I am not making joke of you."

He stopped and stared at her. "And who talks like that? 'Making joke of you'? Nobody talks like that. Not even crazy people! I'm telling you, you couldn't be any weirder if you tried."

Then he stopped. "Bandits," he told her when she stopped and stared at him, apparently curious about his wary posture.

"Unfriendly men who attempt to steal?" she asked him.

"Uh… yeeessss," he drawled, "that would be a bandit."

"They are bad?"

"Well, yeah!" What was wrong with her? He shot her a disgusted look, which she either missed or completely ignored.

"Very well," she told him. "I will respond accordingly."

Somehow, that sounded very ominous to him. As in really, really ominous. Not just a little bit ominous. Not sorta ominous: It sounded deadly, scary ominous.

He pulled his sword out. "Please don't get involved," he told her, hoping that he could just kill them and move on without too much trouble from her direction.

"Well, well, what have we here?" drawled the bandit leader, a dark-haired man wearing a bandanna. "That's a mighty lovely piece you got there," he told Alistair, though he was looking past him at Velistara.

"Leave her alone," Alistair told him. "She's not right in the head, she doesn't deserve what you would do to her. She doesn't understand."

Bandanna-man laughed. "She don't have to understand, do she, boys?"

Three more showed up beside him, seeming to melt out of the trees and onto the path.

Without further discussion, Alistair charged at bandanna-man, shouting that all bandits had goats for mothers and sheep for wives, infusing the words with a magical compulsion to attack him for his words. The other three started attacking him also, as intended, and he focused on the job at hand, swiping his sword across to block a blow from one while he drove the shield into bandanna-man's chin.

He shifted around so that he could keep Velistara in sight. He expected to see her standing there, doing nothing. Instead, to his surprise, he saw another bandit circling her, a gold earring glittering in the light from the risen sun.

Panicking, he started to make his way towards her to save her, as the man reached out and picked up a lock of strawberry hair, letting it fall again on her shoulder. He sneered and reached out for her.

Alistair was close, so close.

Then, it seemed almost as if her image shimmered. She began to cast; he saw her arms move, and her lips reciting a surprisingly short spell…yet it almost seemed as if he could see the image of a gigantic, perfectly formed blue-black dragon shimmering over her.

Gold-earring-man was enveloped in a cloud of boiling flame. Ash was all that remained, blowing away in the wind as casually as if it were simply dust.

Alistair realized then that the bandits attacking him had also stopped and were staring, open-mouthed, at Velistara.

He decided to take advantage of their stupor, but before he could even swing, they turned tail and ran.

She looked at him. He stared back, mouth open in surprise.

"What?" she asked him.

"I…it's just… you just killed him. Just like that." His mind reeled at the implications of her power.

"I did ask if bandits were bad," she reminded him.

"Yes," he told her. "I guess I just didn't quite realize that you would do to someone who you see as 'bad.'"

"Do you wish to inform me that my own life was not in any danger?" she asked.

"No… You were definitely in danger."

"Do you wish to inform me that you were not in danger?"

He sighed. "Yes, I was in danger, but I could have handled them."

"I am not so certain," she told him. "And I do not believe that I acted in a rash or unreasonable manner. They are short lived creatures, anyway. He would not have lived much longer, even if I had not killed him. I feel certain, from his words, that he would have violated my person and ended my life.

"I am almost two thousand years old. Do you really think that I should throw my life away for a short-lived creature who was forcing me to choose between his life, or my own?"

"You are a very frightening person." He picked up the gold earring, avoiding looking at her.

"Why would you be afraid of me? Do you intend to force me to choose between your life and mine?"

"No, I don't intend anything of the kind!" he almost yelled at her. Of course he didn't, what kind of person did she think he was, anyway?

"Then you have no reason to fear me," she told him, then abruptly changed the subject. "Why is your face furry, and their faces were not?"

"I… what? Are you really asking me about shaving after you just incinerated someone with blue fire?"

"Would you like me to ask you later? If you will tell me the proper—"

"Gah!" He grabbed his head, trying to shake off the feeling of unreality. "Stop that! You make me crazy! I swear, I'm even hallucinating a dragon when you cast spells!"

"Did I not tell you earlier that I am—"

"Don't," he told her. "Just don't say it."


	4. Dark Roads Through Sunshine

**Part 4: Dark Roads Through Sunshine**

There was something about her that he simply couldn't explain. He was drawn to her again and again. He couldn't stop looking at her. Stranger yet, it was almost as if he could hear music when she was close to him. The closer she got to him, the louder the music. It was breathtaking. Exquisite.

The longer he was around her, the more insane he felt. But the part that distressed him most was that he was beginning to feel as if he knew her. He felt ever more protective, as well. No amount of reminding himself that despite being half his size, she could incinerate him in an instant did anything to quell the rising feeling of protectiveness.

It was the song, he told himself. The distracting, sweet, lyrical song… it was magic.

He found himself bumping into her as they walked, and not able to stop drifting towards her. She didn't seem to mind, not like a lot of people. 'Personal space' seemed to have no particular meaning to her. She neither seemed to welcome him nor to protest his presence.

He felt like this was somehow wrong, though. He longed for a drink, something to take his mind off of her constant music. Though, it wasn't really music. It was emotional in some way that he didn't understand.

"What?" she asked him out of nowhere.

"What what?" he asked back.

"You said nothing to me?" Confusion was written clearly on her face.

"Then why are you doing that?" she asked him after he shook his head.

"Doing what?" He was confused—he wasn't even walking on her—this time.

"You are talking too quietly for me to hear you, but you are speaking as if you are having a conversation. If you wish to speak to me, please do so in a voice that I can hear. It would seem that my hearing in this body is not excellent."

"It's just a bad habit. It's got nothing to do with you. If I want to talk to you, I'll make sure I talk loud enough, okay?" How embarrassing. He was muttering to himself about her music and she stopped him to tell him so!

"Why do you not shave?" she asked abruptly.

He blinked at her. Her abrupt changes in conversation often left him wondering what exactly he had missed.

"I don't want to. I don't need to. Who do I have to impress, anyway?" he said.

"Whom."

"What?"

"Whom do you have to impress, would be the question."

"Wait, aren't you a dragon?"

"Yes."

"Well, then don't tell me how to talk," he told her. "I'm not taking grammar lessons from a deranged dragon-woman-thing!"

"It would seem that you do not take grammar lessons from anyone," she told him.

"I'm starting to really hate you," he told her. "You might be the single most annoying person I've ever met. Ever. And that says a lot, because I grew up in the Chantry."

"I do not think you are being honest with me. I admit that I know little of humans, but I doubt that they rub against people that they hate as often as you rub against me," she told him.

He gaped at her in shock. "Well, excuuuuse me!" he growled. "I am just trying to keep you safe!" Now he was talking like her! "Gah! Your crazy is rubbing off on me! I've been contaminated by crazy!"

"Your behavior has been erratic and unpredictable since we encountered one another," she pointed out. "Thus I doubt it has anything to do with me."

"My question had a point," she added.

"Which question? What?" Another conversational left turn? He considered trying to beat some sense into this conversation on a nearby tree by beating his head on it.

"Why you do not shave," she told him, as if she were talking to a dimwit. "For some reason, I believe that you are the man I encountered in the Fade. But he did not have a furry face, nor the mat on his head."

Alistair scowled at her. "That's not a mat, that's my hair."

"It is infested with insects. Perhaps you should consider shaving it."

"I'm not going to shave my head!" he almost yelled it. "And stop that, already!"

She stared at him, giving him a disconcerting feeling that he was the one who was crazy, instead of she… but he knew she was screwball insane! Granted, he was beginning to wonder about himself as well...

"I am doing nothing," she told him, "except standing here having a conversation with you. Or, perhaps, only attempting to, as your discourse is erratic and overly emotional."

"What is that buzzing? That nonstop kind of singing thing you're doing?" How was that for a conversational redirect!

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps the next time that you wish to accuse me of being 'nuttier than an almond tree,' you will remember this moment. It would behoove you."

He stared after her in shock as she walked off down the road in his borrowed Templar robe. Did she really just say that to him? And who used words like 'behoove' anyway?

"You know, I'm going to be so glad when you're safe at the Chantry and I can get on with life," he told her.

"Provided you can find someone else to rub up against who will sing to you, yes?" she asked.

He felt heat rise to his face and he crossed his arms, trying to give her a fierce glare.

"That was intended to provoke amusement," she said blandly.

"It failed," he growled.

"Yes, so it would seem. On your part, at least."

"You're really not funny."

"As you say," she replied.

"Did your parents beat you as a child? I think even the Revered Mother would want to beat you."

"I was not born, I was created," she replied.

"Oh yeah. Dragon."

"Indeed."

"Yep. I hate you."


	5. A Gift Once Given

**Part 5: A Gift Once Given**

They camped for the night. Velistara felt a strange feeling pulling at her; the body she inhabited having been fed, was now tired. She recognized tired. Now, though, she felt another strange sensation, and she was reticent to inform her traveling companion, to have to hear his unpredictable opinion on her new issue.

She could do nothing, in the end, other than speak to him about it, though. She had reached the end of the body's endurance regarding the issue at hand.

"I believe I must relieve myself," she informed him, "but I am uncertain in how to go about it."

A large, offensive cone of liquid spewed out of his mouth, as he dropped the canteen he had been drinking from away from his face.

"What?" he cried at her, surprise and dismay on his face. "You want me to tell you how to relieve yourself? Isn't that taking this 'crazy' bit a tad too far?" He dropped his forehead into his hand.

She cocked her head to look at him. "I have never had clothing before. I would prefer not to stain it with urine. I believe that before long, I would begin to smell as you do. I regret to inform you, but the various odors exuding from your body and your mouth are decidedly unpleasant."

"Well, I'm not exactly living in the lap of luxury here!" he yelled at her. "I can't believe you just told me that I stink. There are some things you just don't say, you know! I mean, really."

He wasn't being entirely honest, though. He'd been deliberately living poorly, ignoring everything and drinking his life away. He probably did have bugs, stink, and need to shave. But did she really have to say so? Out loud?

"I believe that my need to relieve myself is becoming fairly urgent," she informed him, completely calm and deadpan.

"Well, lift up your skirts out in the woods and use a leaf to get the extra off," he told her, waving vaguely towards the forest.

"As you say," she replied.

"Are you going to say that to everything I say?"

"No."

"Chatty, ain'tcha?" he asked the air as she walked off into the woods.

She returned a while later.

"Better?" he asked, surprised to find himself genuinely curious on how it went.

"This will take getting used to," she told him.

"Well, I'm going to sleep," he told her. He refused to ask, even if he wondered what exactly that meant.

"You are hibernating again?" she was clearly surprised.

"Humans don't hibernate, we sleep." Why was he even telling her this? He shouldn't be catering to her nutty side. "Anyway, you can have the bedroll." He pointed and watched as she laid down obediently.

Sooner than he would have expected, he drifted off to sleep.

"Velistara?"

"So it is you, after all," she said to him, her blue-black head lowering to look him over.

"I… well, yes." He looked like himself in the Fade. Like he used to, before…

"Shall we explore?" she asked him, and he realized she was speaking directly in his mind.

"Explore?"

"The Fade," she said patiently, as if to a small child. "Shall we explore the Fade?"

He was enveloped in her song. It was so beautiful. She was radiant, despite being black. And she looked little like the Archdemon. She was magnificent, and he was drawn to her. He tried to focus on what she was saying.

It was his dream, so why not? He collapsed against her and wrapped his arms around her neck. "Your song is even stronger here," he told her quietly. "I can feel it all around me."

"I know nothing of this song," she replied. "Let us explore together, no?"

He climbed on her back in answer. She heaved and lurched, and suddenly they were flying! He looked down and saw farms and hillsides. Wind rushed by his face, and he was filled with incredible joy.

They flew across meadows and then she veered away, winging him towards a place he'd never seen before.

"This is my sanctuary in the Fade," she told him. She swooped down and landed beside a rippling pond. Over it towered an immense waterfall cascading down a greenery covered cliff, and he saw trees and animals of kinds he'd never seen before all around them. Flowers grew in riotous abandon beside the rippling pond, and he stared at them in wonder.

Then, remembering that this was his dream, so he could do what he wanted, he tore his clothes off and ran into the water. The dragon on the beach lifted into the air and splashed into the pond, rolling him over and sending him tumbling back towards the beach.

He laughed and splashed her. They played in the water together and then laid on the shore in the bright sun that made rainbows out of the mist of the waterfall.

"This is a beautiful place," he told her, absently patting along her jawline.

She rumbled softly in response, her eyes still closed in languid repose.

Then abruptly, he found himself dragged away into a Darkspawn dream. But this time, she was there, and so was an Archdemon.

The Archdemon turned and saw them. "Velistara!" it said, and Alistair understood it perfectly this time. "You have brought us a morsel, have you?"

"You will never have him!" Velistara shrieked, and Alistair watched, his heart lurching, as the two creatures leaped into the air and met with a screaming of talons and scales.

"He is mine, Velistara!" shouted the Archdemon. "I will have him, you cannot stop me. He carried my blood, my promise!"

The Archdemon sliced at her, and she twisted away. Alistair saw scales fall, and a bright curtain of blood arch away from her. She fought back, though, and her talons found purchase on the Archdemon's arm, ripping it open in turn.

What bothered Alistair most, though, was that he could hear two distinct 'songs.' One was unquestionably Velistara's. The other was discordant, harsh, and grating… and infinitely familiar.

He found himself suddenly jerking towards wakefulness, and looked down to see Velistara, the dragon, dragged after him as if across a great void.

Then he was gasping and shaking on the ground beside the fire. He looked over at the woman who was calling herself Velistara, and saw an open wound on her neck. He carefully placed a poultice against it, and found her watching him.

"It _is_ you," she told him. "You are the one who heard me dying and saved me. You are the one in the Fade."

He slammed his eyes shut against the words.

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. The only possibility was that he was now as crazy as she was.

But Maker help him, he was beginning to wonder. Really wonder.

"I Thank you," she told him.

He opened his eyes in suprrise, "What?"

"For nursing my wound," she told him. "I thank you."

"Oh, now you can be courteous, huh? If I'd known a little scratch on the neck was all it took this whole time…" he left the rest unsaid, despite the fact that he was joking.

"It is not courtesy, Alistair. It is sincerity. The wound was serious," she told him.

Then she closed her eyes and went right back to sleep.

Alistair longed to do so as well. He wanted to go back to the dragon in the Fade and hear her song and play in the water at her sanctuary.

But sleep eluded him.


	6. Of Fancies and Fate

**Part 6: Of Fancies and Fates**

He woke up irritable and unhappy. If he'd dreamed further, he hadn't been able to remember it, which was just as well, he supposed. He wasn't sure he could take any more of that. It was very difficult to hold onto daytime reality when it seemed as if his dreams were intruding on it.

But, he told himself, that was all it was. A seeming. She wasn't really a dragon—she was a mage. She had entered the Fade with him and tricked him. He would have to be on his guard around her at all times.

This reasoning niggled at his mind. He knew it couldn't account for the song, the music, whatever it was that endlessly attracted him to her. Yet, he felt it was safer to ignore this, and put it up to his own over-active, alcohol-withdrawing imagination.

So he set them on a course for Redcliffe Village, moving as quickly as he could. She was forced many times to a near trot to keep up with him, but he ignored this fact and continued on.

After some time of this grueling pace, he stopped and swore. There were few Templars at Redcliffe. The chances were that he would be made to escort her further on to the Circle Tower.

Great. Just great. Why hadn't that occurred to him the moment that he realized she was a mage?

Not just any mage, though.

An insane mage. Completely hogwonkers.

Great. Just great.

Plus, he was starting to feel insane, himself. He was even dreaming about her, and she was harming herself to try to make it look real. Now _that_ was not only insane, but it was scary, too.

He walked on, slower now, but still moving the right way. He was brooding and he knew it, but she said nothing about his unusual silence.

She ran into him again, and he realized that this time it was all her. It wasn't him running into her anymore.

He looked at her, ready to admonish her not to do that to people, when he realized that something was very wrong with her. She was pale and wan, her strawberry-blond hair bright against her pale, nervous face.

"What's the matter?" he asked her.

She looked at him, startled, her eyes wide. "What?"

"What's wrong with you? You look unwell. Do you need to stop and rest?"

"No!" she practically shouted. Then more calmly, "No, I do not need to rest. Let us keep going, please."

"What's bothering you?" He stopped and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're not going on until you tell me."

"They are coming," she said. "I feel them. They are going to catch up to me. Probably soon. I cannot outrun them in this form, and I fear I cannot shift back." She spoke faster with each word, sounding almost panicked by the end of the tirade.

He grabbed his head. "Stop with the shifting business, okay? Just stop. And who are 'they', and why are they chasing you?"

"Them," she said, waving a hand vaguely. Then she started walking, moving quickly. "I do not know who they are. Or what they are. But they are dark and evil and tainted. They are trying to get to me, to rape me and take me and make me like Him."

"Urthemiel," she told him, looking around in the most paranoid fashion he'd ever seen.

"The Archdemon? Oh, right. Like I shouldn't have seen that one coming," he told her. "I am such a fool, why do I ever believe you at all?"

"You still do not believe me?" she asked him. "Even after last night in the Fade?"

"You're a mage, you can make me see whatever you desire in the Fade," he told her.

"That is inaccurate. Human mages really have little conscious control over the Fade, just as most humans do not, they—"

"Don't try to give me a lesson on the Fade. What part of 'I don't trust you' do you not understand?"

"After last night, I do not understand it at all," she told him.

"Arg, it's not literal!" He threw his hands up in defeat. "Never mind. Urthemiel's dead, by the way, so that couldn't have been him we saw. Big mistake, makes it all into a lie," he was positively grumpy now.

"Yes, he is dead, but his residue lives on in the Fade. It will go away in time, but dragon souls linger for years in the Dreaming Fade. He wishes to take you with him into oblivion. I will not allow this," she added.

"You," he told her, looking at her incredulously, "come up with some wild, crazy, absolutely insane stuff. I really am scared of you. I mean that. You're insane."

"And yet you think that I 'sing' or something of that nature." Her voice was even and without inflection.

"Yeah, don't remind me."

"Let us please hurry, they are very close now."

He grabbed her arm and stopped her again, turning her to face him. "Then we'll wait for them. Right here. And if they don't show up, you won't bring this nonsense up again."

"We must not!"

Oh ho, now she was showing emotion!

"We must flee! If they catch up to me, they will destroy me first, and then everything else!"

"You're not a dragon, lady! You just can't handle the fact that you're a nobody like everyone else! No one's—"

He swung his head around in mid-sentence. "Darkspawn!"

"They're here!" she shrieked, and he turned away as he saw the image of the perfect, beautiful blue-black dragon superimposed over her again.

He swung wildly at the first Genlock to spring up from underground, dirt showering around them. Then he fell into the familiar rhythm and slashed with more finesse, following it up with an overpowering blow from his massive shield.

Blue flames erupted to his left, and he felt his hair singe. He figured he'd probably lost part of that eyebrow, too. He turned to look at her, and saw her incinerating three Darkspawn who were in front of her.

She was surrounded by them. He felt panic run through him, and he shouted an insult, imbuing it with as much force and compulsion as he could. They ignored his taunt, focused on their prey…. Velistara.

She erupted with billowing, blooming blue fire again, this time in a circle. More were incinerated, but Alistair couldn't get close to her. The fire, although now concentrated more near her, was simply too hot. He circled helplessly, his shield held up to protect him from her flames.

Another powerful eruption of flame, and there remained only a Hurlock Emissary. Alistair raced towards it, and slammed it so hard in the chest with his shield that it fell over.

Two more cuts and it was badly wounded. An uppercut to the jaw with the shield, and its head was snapped backwards. Blood flew through the air, and Velistara shrieked as the Emissary fell to the ground.

He turned on her, angry; "What, you burned a bunch of them up, are you going to be squeamish about one that didn't die—"

She was staring at herself in horror. "Get it off of me!"

"It's just blood." What was the big deal? Ashes were okay, but blood was oh-so-scary?

"It is not just blood!" she shrieked at him. "It is foul, evil, tainted blood! GET IT OFF OF ME!"

She sounded truly terrified. Not just terrified, but desperate and panicked. He was unnerved to see the unflappable Velistara in such a state.

He pulled his canteen out and dumped it over her head. If she was that scared of a little blood on her, then so be it. He saw no wounds on her, and thus no reason for her extreme over-reaction.

She ran away from him down the road, the skirts of his robe in her hands. "It's just blood!" he yelled after her. "And a little water," he added to himself with a shrug.

He searched the corpses, picking up what items interested him. A piece of intact armor here, some coins there. But most of the useful stuff seemed to have been eliminated through the simple expedient of burning.

He sighed and followed the road, half expecting to see her sitting in a Templar robe puddle and sobbing… half hoping he would never see her again.

Inevitably, though, the song drew him towards her. He found her walking along the road, her hair and robe still dripping.

"Thank you," she told him.

What? She really was peculiar. Shouldn't she be crying and weeping and carrying on at this point?

"I didn't do much, you pretty much took care of all of them," he said.

"I meant for cleaning it off of me."

"Well, we had better hope that we encounter no more, or that we find a stream or river before we do. Otherwise, you might have to wear it for a bit—"

"No!" her voice was firm, uncompromising. "That is not acceptable. That is the most dangerous thing we could possibly do. I will not allow it. You must kill me rather than allow that." It was her turn to stop and give him a direct, unyielding look that penetrated to his inner being.

"What? No. I'm not going to kill you. You're nutty, alright, but I don't kill people who don't attack me first—"

"If I am tainted by that blood, I will become not just a danger to you, but a danger to everyone," she said, her voice so emotionless and adamant that his stomach rolled in protest.

"You will have to do it eventually, Alistair. It is my fate."

"Wow, and I thought my life was depressing."


	7. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

**Part 7: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow**

Alistair took her straight to the Chantry at Redcliffe. Another night of dreams, this time all centered around her supposed dragon form, and he felt like he couldn't stand it another minute.

He wanted desperately to be away from her. Mostly because he wanted desperately to jump on her and do things to her that he really shouldn't be thinking about at all. He had gotten to the point where even looking at her aroused him beyond thought. Just for the thoughts running through his mind, the Maker would no doubt end civilization as they knew it.

Ser Perth was there, to Alistair's surprise, and greeted him warmly. At first, Alistair was delighted to see him, though the other man took in his appearance with a start and not a small degree of barely-disguised disgust.

But then Ser Perth bent over Velistara's hand and kissed it.

"She's crazy," Alistair warned again, fighting a sudden, overwhelming urge to beat the other man's face down his throat and out his rump. "I mean, dangerous crazy. Don't let her out of your sight—"

"Oh, you can trust me, I will not," Ser Perth told him.

Alistair bristled... he really doubted he could trust the man at all...

Alistair stomped away to the inn, trying not to remind himself that Ser Perth was not a Templar, and thus had no vows of chastity. He was obviously attracted to the crazy Velistara; as Alistair himself was.

He stopped no less than seven times on his way to the inn, wavering and almost turning around. He desperately wanted to turn around and run back to her. He couldn't bring himself to do it. It was simple self-preservation, he told himself.

He hadn't even said good-bye.

He got to the inn and bought some potions and poultices; as well as finding he was lucky enough that the rotund, friendly innkeeper happened to have a bar of strong soap on him. Soap strong enough to kill the "infestation" on Alistair's scalp and beard. He bought that, as well.

Once in the room he'd rented, he hacked the hair off first, then the beard. When he was done, he bathed, and then took scissors and trimmed both. Next, he shaved. Soon, his hair was back to the old familiar short style, and his beard mostly gone except the bit of it he preferred to keep on his chin.

He looked strange, almost alien to himself. He'd been overgrown for so long that he almost didn't know the man in the mirror—a fleeting memory of someone he might have once been.

He walked down to the common room and ordered a drink. The whiskey was placed in front of him, and he just stared at it for a moment. He felt… bereft. There was no other word for it. Somehow, the whiskey reminded him that he was alone again.

She had come into his life like a whirlwind, and now she was gone just as quickly. He picked up the whiskey tentatively. Perhaps it would ease his mind and clear everything up for him.

He took a drink of it, and felt it rolling to his stomach, permeating him with heat and comfort.

Then the song surged. He felt it roaring through his blood, shouting through his mind, and caressing along his body. He gasped and gripped the table as he felt drowned in poignant, surging music.

"Alistair? Is that you?" a voice asked.

He tried to focus through the haze of Velistara's music. "Leliana?" He thought it was her—if only he could concentrate.

"Three sheets to the wind already?" she asked, disapproval rife in her voice.

"No," he said vaguely, as if down a distant, music-filled tunnel. "I've only had one sip."

"You look rather drunk." She turned to the man at her side, "This is Terrinz," she introduced him. "He's a new Gray Warden."

"Nice to meet you," Alistair said, waving his hand absently.

"You, too," Terrinz told him, holding out a dark, warm brown hand. Alistair shook it and then went back to trying to focus around the strange, emotional music in his head. "What brings you to Redcliffe Village?"

"I… uh. I was just dropping a refugee off at the Chantry," Alistair replied. He suddenly didn't want to tell them more. "What about you?" he asked, more because he knew he should out of courtesy than for any other reason.

"There's been a strange pull on the Wardens for the last two or three weeks," Leliana told him. "We were on our way to try to find the source of it, but it would seem that it has moved. Now it seems to be here—"

"What? What do you mean by a 'pull'?" Alistair interrupted her. His brain was trying to function again, fortunately.

"It's hard to explain." Terrinz looked thoughtful as he tried to explain. "But it's kind of like feeling the Darkspawn, only a lot nicer. It seems to be different for some of us. For example, I'm personally following a smell. Some of the guys felt it was a taste. A couple thought they kept seeing something bright and shimmering. Some say it's like music, and others claim that they can feel warmth on their skin." He shrugged. "It's strange, whatever it is. The Commander thinks it's dangerous, very dangerous."

Alistair snorted. "Like I would trust his judgment, after Loghain."

"I'm not here to argue that with you, Alistair. I'm just doing my job and trying to find the source of this draw," Terrinz sat back and crossed powerful arms across his leather-clad chest, his chair creaking on its two back legs.

"No need, I think I know what it is," Alistair said. "I can't explain its purpose or the reason for it, but I think I know what the source is." He was suddenly depressed beyond belief. "She's at the Chantry."

"She?" Terrinz' eyebrow rose. "Are you saying a person is doing this?"

"She's a mage. A very powerful one," Alistair told him. He pondered trying the whiskey again, but he already felt drugged and overpowered. He pushed it away with distaste. "And she's insane. Not just a little insane, but completely, totally, irreparably insane."

"That's a shame," Terrinz said. "But I suppose that makes getting rid of it easier."


	8. Competition Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

**Part 8: Competition Makes the Heart Grow Fonder**

Alistair's head snapped up, and he saw red. "'Getting rid of it'?" he echoed. "I didn't protect her all the way here so you could kill her," he snapped, reaching for his sword and standing up so fast his chair fell over.

"Whoa, buddy. That wasn't what I meant. I meant taking her to the Circle of Magi and getting them to turn off this… whatever it is… that she does. Calm down," Terrinz told him, running a hand across his bald head. "I'm a Warden, not a monster." He dropped back onto all four legs of his chair.

Alistair sank back into his chair. "I'm sorry, it's just… the music is so much louder right now, I can barely think."

"Yeah, I would put the drink away if I were you. It magnifies it. The more you drink, the more it magnifies it. We had to lock Dragal up in the dungeon til he sobered up, he kept trying to climb out the window, screaming, 'She's dying, she's dying! Let me go!'"

"She _was_ dying, or so she says."

"Damn," Terrinz said softly. "We couldn't have known, you know."

"I know," Alistair dropped his head and ran both hands through his hair. "Believe me, I know."

"Have you had any dreams?" Terrinz asked him.

Alistair's head whipped up. "Dreams?"

"Yes," Terrinz said. "I've had the usual Archdemon dreams, and others. New ones. An old farmhouse I wanted to buy as a kid. I used to dream about it all the time, but not for years and years. And there's always a dragon—"

"A black dragon?" A strange feeling of impending doom flickered up Alistair's spine.

"Yeah! You've dreamed of her, too?"

"How do you know it's a female dragon?" Alistair couldn't stop the question, though this time he couldn't blame it on the music, which was returning to its usual soft murmur at last as the whiskey was removed from his system.

"I—" Terrinz blinked. "I don't, not really. It just feels right. I guess." A frown furrowed his brow. "It might be a male."

"Perhaps you should take us to meet this refugee," Leliana interrupted.

Sometimes, the woman was simply too perceptive, Alistair thought to himself. He was often unsure whether her kindness warmed him, or her piousness irritated him.

"She's at the Chantry," he told them. "And she's nuts. Totally crazy. Not just crazy, but dangerously crazy." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince this time.

"Come with us," Leliana told him. "You are familiar to her. Perhaps she will be less dangerous with someone familiar around."

He recognized the fact that he wasn't going to get out of it with a sinking heart. "Fine."

He followed them out and down the hill. When they were nearly into the town square, people began rushing past them, all heavily armed.

Leliana stopped one of them. "What's going on?"

"Darkspawn! In the Chantry!" the man told her, and tore free of her grip and ran off.

The three of them looked at each other, then Terrinz said, "Darkspawn?"

They bolted towards the Chantry, only to find people crowded around it, but not going inside.

"What's wrong? Why are you standing around?" Leliana asked them. "Someone could be hurt inside!"

"Oh, someone's hurt alright," one of them said. "We can't get inside. The flames are too intense."

Alistair ignored them all and grabbed the door's handle, grateful for his metal gauntlets. He yanked it open and then immediately slammed it as a billow of blue flame licked out and around him. "Ahh!" he bellowed, feeling as if he were being boiled alive inside his plate armor.

"Alistair!" came the shriek from inside just before the door shut.

He yanked it open again, "Don't burn me up!" he roared, slamming it again as a gout of flame licked out the door. He opened it again tentatively. No flames greeted him. He stepped inside and coughed from the smoky haze in the air.

She stood in the middle of a conflagration. Black burn marks and charred corpses lay around her. "They found me again," she said. "I told you they were after me."

"By the Maker! It's her!" Terrinz said from behind Alistair. He stepped around and walked up to her, seeming not to even notice the burns or the corpses or the fact that her clothes were dangling in barely decent burned shreds from her body.

He knelt in front of her, "My Lady. You smell like roses and cookies."

She smiled and placed her hand on his head like a benediction. It was a sad, tender smile. Alistair was overcome with roaring jealousy.


	9. Where Darkspawn Fear to Tread

_I just wanted to take a minute to thank the lovely Warrose for reading another of my stories. I really appreciate it!_

_And a big huge "thank you" to those subscribing and favoriting! It really means a lot to me to find those notices in my inbox. I'm grateful to each and every one of you._

_Thank you, alyssa, yet again. You are a dear lady!_

* * *

**Part 9: Where Darkspawn Fear to Tread**

"She's lovely," Leliana said beside him, and Alistair clenched his fists. Like he hadn't noticed. Was there anyone who could manage to skip reminding him that he was being anything but the Chantry-raised gentleman he was supposed to be?

"Do you feel it? Do you sense anything from her?" He tried to be reasonable, to focus.

"No, nothing," Leliana said. "Not including that she's breathtaking."

They reached Velistara, who cocked her head to the side and looked at him. "You have shaved. It is better thus."

"What… why do you do that? People are dead, and you're talking about my hair?"

"Unless you consider Darkspawn to be people, then none have died," she told him. "The death of these vile monsters if of little consequence. They are worse than vermin, they are a disease."

Leliana looked at Alistair and shrugged. "I don't think she's wrong."

"I just wanted to have a drink, go to Orzammar, and get it done and over with. This is pointless and it's making me as insane as her!" He knew it wasn't Leliana's fault, but he couldn't stop himself from snapping at her.

"It's hardly her fault, either, Alistair," Leliana pointed out. "Whether she's insane, or something else, it's not her fault anymore than you being a bastard was yours."

Alistair cringed at the reference. He sighed. "She needs clothes. My Templar robe is ruined."

"Ser Perth, it is safe now," Velistara announced in a shout

Three men including Ser Perth emerged from around the corner. "You weren't kidding," he said. "That was a major fire. We're lucky to escape with our lives." He was pale and shaken. "Where did all those Darkspawn come from?"

"Under the ground." Velistara pointed down, looking at him as if he were slow-witted.

"Yes," he said, "but why? They broke right though the foundation!"

"They are seeking me," Velistara told him calmly.

"We must protect her," Terrinz stated.

"I agree," Ser Perth told him, "if they are willing to go to these lengths, then there's no telling what could or would stop them."

"Wait!" Alistair couldn't believe it. "Am I really the only one that thinks something isn't right here? I mean, she's somehow summoning Darkspawn, and we're all going to just protect her? Just like that?"

"Look at her, Alistair," Leliana said. "She's a human being who needs our help. Try to see her honestly."

Velistara's eyes met his, and sparkled with something that might have been amusement. He glowered at her. She assumed he wasn't going to tell them that she thought she was a dragon. They'd protect her and throw him in the dungeon for being a crazy person.

She was wrong. "She thinks she's a dragon!" he told them. "I told you, she's crazy!"

"She still needs our help, Alistair. You should go with us. Your Templar abilities may be necessary." Terrinz clapped Alistair on the shoulder.

"Arg, really?" Alistair knew his protests would fall on deaf ears. "I can't stand being around her!"

"Really? I can't stand not being around her," Terrinz said. "She smells like bbq pork now. I'm hungry, anybody else hungry?"

"You want me to go with you?" Ser Perth asked.

"No," Leliana told the Knight. "I think two distracted men are two more than we need."

"I'm not distracted!" Ser Perth objected. "I'm less distracted than they are," he qualified when she gave him an arch look.

"Well, the Tower of Magi is also warded, so hopefully it's less likely that the Darkspawn can find her there," Alistair finally agreed, albeit grudgingly. "Let's get going."

Terrinz and Velistara left to head for the inn, and Leliana held Alistair back a bit before following. "Why do you dislike her so much?"

"She's totally hogwonkers! She put us into danger, she draws Gray Wardens like puppets. Not to mention Darkspawn… I don't understand why I'm the only one suspicious of her!"

"She feels good, Alistair. I mean, she just radiates something that even those of us who aren't Gray Wardens can feel. What does your heart say? That's how the Maker speaks to us, you know."

"How can I trust my heart, Leliana? I trusted Xander and he betrayed me. He betrayed us all."

"It wasn't like that, Alistair. If you'd give him a chance to explain—"

Her eyes held pity for him and that enraged him more than even her words did.

"Some things cannot be explained away, Leliana. I don't trust her. She's crazy, or she's some kind of trap for the Gray Wardens. Something isn't right!"

"I think you're wrong about her, Alistair."

"I might be. But what if it's you who's wrong?"

He didn't stop to listen to her response, if there was one. He wanted to believe that he was wrong. He wanted to give in to the calm and peace that he felt in her presence. But it was simply impossible. He was a Gray Warden, and protecting Ferelden was his first priority.

So he would go along to watch her, because it seemed as if no one else would.


	10. What Songs Can Say

_Thank you again for all the reviews, comments, favorites, and alert subscriptions. You guys rock!_

_I really appreciate those who are letting me know that they enjoy my stories. It truly means a lot to me and it's very encouraging._

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**Part 10: What Songs Can Say**

They camped that night on their way towards the Tower of the Circle of Magi. Alistair, having lost so much sleep tossing and turning the night before, found it claimed him quickly.

He came to awareness within the Fade, looking up to find the blue-black dragon watching him from a hillside some ways away. He wanted to speak to her, and found himself instantly there.

"This is my dream," he told her.

The great head lifted and looked at him.

"Take me back to the waterfall," he said, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

"It's your dream," she told him indifferently. "Take yourself." She curled her head back around her body, her eyes closing peacefully.

"I would, but I don't have control over the Fade like you do," he told her.

"Do you not understand your lapse in logic? You think that you have no control over the Fade, and yet you wish to command me?"

"I… see your point…" he said, contemplating the idea. "Please take me back?"

"Will the Fade respond to wheedling, then?"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Now he was getting a little testy.

"We are in your dream world, according to you. You may do as you wish. If you desire to visit my dream world, however, may I suggest a modicum of courtesy?"

"Modicum? Who talks like that? I mean, really?"

"Be pleased that I request but a modicum, Alistair. I suspect that had I requested more than a small amount, you would have been unable to fulfill the request at all." She unfurled, her wings stretching. "Come, I am weary of this discussion." She lowered a foreleg and he climbed up to sit between two neck ridges.

"I'm sorry," he told her, but she gave no response.

They arrived and Alistair leaped into the water, splashing and playing for some time before he realized that she wasn't there. He looked over to find her neck stretching into the sky, her eyes watching him.

"Come on in, the water's perfect!" He laughed and splashed in her general direction.

"Thank you, but I think I shall watch you this night." Her glowing eyes blinked at him, her scales shimmering and sparkling in the light of the sun.

"You're sad." He stepped out of the water. Finding a towel waiting for him on a rock he didn't remember having been there before, he picked it up and toweled off. This time, he hadn't removed his smallclothes, succumbing to the possibility that she might really be real, not just a dream.

"You sound very certain," her voice whispered into his mind, much more softly than her normal communication.

"I can hear it and feel it." Her massive head cocked sideways, and he explained further. "In the song. I can hear it—feel it, really—in the song."

"Ah, yes. The song. The music you keep mentioning." She shifted and laid her head down on the beach beside him.

"Why would you be sad? Don't you claim to be thousands of years old?"

"Almost. Why would you imagine that an ancient being cannot be sad, I wonder?"

"Aren't you supposed to outgrow all emotion or something like that?"

"What good would such a life be?"

"I don't know…" he didn't. But it seemed like a reasonable idea, still.

"So? Why are you sad?" Why was she avoiding the question, he wondered.

"Would you enjoy being hunted by Darkspawn so that they can drain you of your soul, destroy your life, strip you of all joy, and otherwise rape and pillage your very being?"

"Wow. That's kind of stark," he told her. "But really, it's not a lot different for Gray Wardens. We give up a lot to become Gray Wardens, you know. And then we have to go chase Darkspawn all over the world. We eventually go insane and then have to go kill ourselves."

"So you are insane because you are a Gray Warden, then? I am glad to hear there is a reason for it."

"Hey!"

She grinned, a leathery, scaly, lovely draconic grin.

"That one was a joke," he told her, feeling the alteration in the music.

"Something said to—"

"—provoke amusement."

"It was successful?"

He grinned at her and jumped into the water again, splashing her. "It was a pretty good one," he agreed.

She got up and walked away, though, disappearing into the foliage. He felt the song go back to an infinite, deep sorrow and regret.

He laid down on the sand of the beach and stared into the sky. It was hard to enjoy the place when he felt both guilty, and sorry for her. Why was he letting himself feel sorry for her?

Was this even real? How did one know in the Fade?

The music grew muted, soft, distant. He struggled to find it, it seemed so far away.

"Velistara?" he felt a strange panic overcoming him as he sat up and looked around, half knowing it was foolish and half hoping to find her there anyway.

The music surged slightly, "Leave me to my contemplation, Alistair. It is a small request."

He stood at the brink of the pond and felt miserable. He had chased her from her sanctuary. He had invaded her special place, and she'd had to flee to find a place to be by herself.

He wanted to say he was sorry, but he decided to honor her request to leave her to her contemplation. The music had lost its emotional edge, now more nearly resembling birdsong or other natural phenomenon.

He laid down in the sand again to listen to it.


	11. Mages, Magic, and Mystery

_Hopefully this edit will improve my ill ramblings, lol.  
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_Thanks again to all of my readers and commenters. I just adore you guys!_

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**Part 11: Mages, Magic, and Mystery**

The next morning Terrinz hovered around Velistara, and Alistair brooded. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help the anger that kept surging through him. He wasn't even sure anymore what he was so angry about, but he knew that at least part of it was his unnatural and continual sexual response to her… and jealousy over Terrinz.

He was obsessed with her, if he had to be honest. He found her alluring in a way he'd never before experienced, even in his brief interest in Leliana.

So he walked along behind her, watching her as she listened attentively to Leliana's nonstop chatter. He wondered how she could stand it, but she seemed to listen with avid interest to the stories and songs that Leliana related.

When the bard ran out of steam, Velistara turned to Terrinz and began to ask him questions, which he answered with an eagerness that made Alistair's growing jealousy snort and plunge like a high strung horse. He listened as she asked him about his childhood and even his induction to the Gray Wardens, which Alistair interrupted as the man sounded prepared to explain the Joining!

He pulled Terrinz aside and reminded him that the last thing he should do, is to tell a crazy woman who believed herself to be a dragon, about the Joining!

Terrinz looked mutinous at first, but then his face calmed and he had the grace to look ashamed. "You're right, of course," he answered the accusation.

"He does not need to tell me. I sense it within you," Velistara said, walking up behind them.

Alistair glared at her. "Sense what?" he challenged.

"Corrupted blood of dragons and of Darkspawn," she replied simply. "You cannot hide it from me. Did you think I would not sense my own, or the taint of the twisted monsters that seek me?"

"Then why didn't you run away from the very start?" Alistair practically crowed, certain that he had cornered her on that one.

"I sense something else in you, as well," she told him easily. "Terrinz shares the taint with you, but not the other that I sense."

"Which is what?"

"That, I cannot tell you. Some things must be discovered in their own time, at their own pace," she explained, moving closer to the others to accept food that was being offered to her. "Besides, you would just think me crazy..."

As she walked away, Alistair glared at Terrinz.

"I didn't tell her!" He threw up his hands defensively and shrugged at Alistair.

"I don't like this," Alistair said. "Something isn't right. She shouldn't know that. And I'm getting the feeling that taking her to the mages is the wrong thing to do."

"They're the only ones that can contain her. And the Tower is the only place the Darkspawn won't sense her or be able to get to her," Terrinz said. "It's the logical thing to do."

"Yeah," Alistair agreed, looking over at the woman sitting on the ground beside Leliana. "But is it the right thing to do?"

Terrinz shrugged. "Won't know til we get there, I suppose. Why?"

"I'm not sure. I just find myself plagued by a nagging doubt." It was Alistair's time to shrug, uncertain.

They packed up and got going again, reaching the Tower late in the afternoon.

"Brought us an Apostate, have you?" asked the Templar at the entrance.

"Of sorts," Alistair responded. "I think we'll discuss it further with Irving and Gregoior, though, if you don't mind."

"Go on in, then," the Templar told him, giving Velistara a sweeping, direct look that made Alistair bristle.

"Alistair! What brings you this way?" Gregoior greeted him.

"We've brought you a very powerful mage. She isn't entirely right in the head, though, so it doesn't seem right to kill her as an Apostate..."

"If she's powerful and mad, then she must be dealt with. You know this, Alistair."

"I'm not convinced she's a danger to anyone—"

"All mages are dangerous, lad. But I'm not telling you anything you don't know, am I?"

"I'm not a mage, I'm a dragon," Velistara interrupted. "You should kill me before the Darkspawn reach me."

"A dragon, are you?" Gregoior asked her, looking her up and down. "You're an awful small dragon."

"I find myself unfortunately trapped in this form," Velistara told him. "But rest assured that if I did not come willingly to face my death, I would not be here."

"As powerful as I sense she is, it's almost believable," First Enchanter Irving said as he walked into the foyer from the Tower's interior. "I doubt that most of the mages together could kill her if she chose to resist. It would take our combined might, at minimum."

"You've done well, Alistair. You may go," Gregoior told him.

"I think we'll stay a while," Alistair said on impulse. "I would like to do a bit of research."

"Certainly your research can be done elsewhere?" Velistara interjected. "It seems an awful imposition for you to remain here. Or do you wish to see me dead before you go?"

Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "This is the best place for my research," he insisted stubbornly. "If it's no bother, Irving?"

"No, none at all, my boy. None at all. Take as long as you need."

Alistair executed a half-bow. "Thank you." He gave Velistara an angry glare as he strode past her and into the tower.


	12. Lessons of the Past

**Part 12: Lessons of the Past**

_The worship of the Goddess of Compassion was brief in the larger history of Tevinter. Her followers were said to venerate her, but not to worship her, unlike the other Dragons._

_It is said that she taught her followers Compassion for all life. Her major lessons revolved around the idea that humans should learn from nature and be in harmony with it. She was also claimed to have taught that humans could accomplish great things without the interference of Dragons._

_The claims that her followers were slaughtered in great numbers by other Dragons' followers, particularly those of Urthemiel, the God of Beauty, are unsubstantiated. The rivalry between them seemed to arise because she was growing at a greater pace than he was. There is supporting evidence of this theory, but not sufficient for most historians to accept these claims as historically accurate._

_Velistara's name became synonymous with Compassion among her followers, sometimes saying or writing, "Be as Velistara," which meant to be Compassionate. It is this which leads modern Velistara scholars to label her the Goddess of Compassion._

_Every Dragon seemed to have a corresponding attribute in the Tevinter Imperium. Urthemiel was the God of Beauty, Velistara the Goddess of Compassion, etc. Of the Dragons, also called the Old Gods, only five are known to still exist. What happened to the other eight is unknown at this time._

Rubbing his eyes, Alistair put the ancient, dust-scented tome back on the shelf. So perhaps there had once been a dragon named Velistara. That didn't mean he was ready to concede that she might be one, but at least it was possible that such a dragon had actually existed.

He realized that it had gotten to be very late; darkness had closed in on the tower while he read. He joined his packs in the small room allotted to him as a visitor, and drifted off to sleep.

He found himself in a dream unlike the ones of the nights before, and definitely far from the ones he usually had. He appeared standing amongst a group in front of a ruins. To his surprise, more people kept popping in, looking as surprised as he.

Then he realized something equally important. They were all Gray Wardens. He could sense them, even here.

"Thank you all for being willing to come here, to hear my tale."

Alistair looked up to find a pale blue dragon perched on the ruins. He'd thought it to be a statue, but it was alive. Then he realized that it was Velistara—except she was black, not pale blue!

"I shall soon be consigned to the Fade forever, for your sakes and the sake of the people you protect. I hope to pass on the knowledge of my experiences to some degree, before that time." She climbed down the ruins, and they vanished, replaced by the original standing masterpiece.

"I rescued a young human in my youth," she continued as people began to crowd closer to her. "He became enamored with the idea of me, and he developed a following. Each day he would come and speak with me, and we would talk at length on various realities of life.

"As time went by, he brought more and more people with him, until crowds would come to listen to our conversations. I enjoyed these sessions until I began to understand that these people were worshiping me, as the other Dragons were worshiped.

"I informed them that I did not want to be worshiped, but that I wanted to be their friend, maybe their companion. That worship was against my very nature—for if they worshiped me, I could no longer be friend, confidant, and mentor, but rather something else. I would be above them, rather than an equal as another member of Creation.

"So they agreed. Yet they came, and they loved me, and their numbers grew. They built this temple, with its high perch. But they kept their promise not to worship me, but rather to venerate the principles I desired to live by and to teach to them.

"Their adoration, their devotion, their love for me; unbiased as it was by worship or fear—caused me to begin to grow at a great rate of speed.

"This attracted the attention of those Dragons who enjoyed the worship and the fear, and they became jealous. In their frenzy, they killed my Beloved humans, and ransacked their temple." As she said this, the temple flared and then became a smoking, charred husk.

"When I arrived to speak with my dear friends, they were gone. Slaughtered. Not a one came to me when I called out. So I ran, fleeing underground.

"There, I hid and contemplated these painful events. There were five dragons who accepted the worship and fear of the humans of Tevinter. There were eight of us who did not seek it. The five were the eldest, however, and the most powerful. They began to kill the rest of us. They destroyed the eggs and killed the others. I know not how many remain besides myself, if any." She curled up in the ruins, crossing her forelegs and arching her light blue head to look down at them.

"When the others led the humans into the Fade and into the black city, all of the Dragons were turned black." She shimmered, and was black once more. "It is payment for their perfidy… payment as well, for slumbering while they betrayed He Who Made Us.

"And so here I am, fleeing the taint of their foul creations. I will die soon, and that is how it must be."

A murmur of increasing protest flickered among the assembled Gray Wardens, and Alistair felt his stomach twist into a knot.

"Be at peace, dear ones. It is the only way. If I knew of another what did not include harming another being, I would seek it. But the Darkspawn cannot be allowed to find me. For I am the largest and most powerful of my kind, thanks to those who gave me love, acceptance, and gratitude. If the Darkspawn are able to turn me, none may be capable of standing against me. Not even in all of your combined might.

"And so it must be as it is. I will not fight the mages. Humanity, the elves, the dwarves… this is your world now. As it should be."

She turned and curled up on the newly perfect temple. "Go in peace, dear ones. Go in peace, and do not be sad for me. For it is my fate, and I shall greet it with all the grace I can muster."

Alistair was back in his own dream again then. He woke early the next morning, feeling weakened, weary, and depressed. He ran a hand down his face and decided to shave, perversely desiring to please the very woman he most distrusted and even feared.


	13. Recognition

**Part 13: Recognition**

_The Velistara cult brought about the greatest advancements in women's, children's, and elven rights in Tevinter history. When the cult was destroyed in a Holy War, it is said by historians to have set the Imperium back by some two hundred odd years._

_There were scientific as well as technological advancements made by the cult, as well, though their pacifistic nature well may have been the main reason behind their swift demise. It seems that in their striving for rights, they failed to recognize the inherent evil in humanity's baser nature._

_In so doing, the cult was easy pickings when began what was called "The Purging." What few stories and discussions of it remain that are not official verbiage maintain that it was a veritable slaughter of innocents._

_When the Cultists of Beauty, Chaos, and Fire united and moved against the Velistara cult, not a single person remained to carry it onwards, and Velistara herself was said to have been attacked and torn to shreds by the five. Her cult never resurfaced, but no evidence of such a battle has ever been unearthed. There is some speculation that she lives, but—_

"Alistair!"

He looked up at the familiar voice. "Wynne!" He was happy to see her. He'd missed her, but hadn't expected her to still be alive. She'd spoken several times about the fact that she was dying, and he was glad to see she hadn't yet done so.

"I heard you were here, but I confess this is the last place I actually expected to find you," she told him, sitting across from him at the table. "What are you so engrossed in? You didn't even hear me come in.

"You're reading about the Tevinter Imperium? That seems an odd choice in reading." She let the book drop back down to the table.

"I'm reading about Velistara," he told her. "The crazy mage claims to be Velistara. I wanted to know more about her."

Wynne's face paled. "There really was a dragon named Velistara?"

"Yes, apparently she was torn to shreds by the other five, though," Alistair said. "And now that woman is claiming her identity, which is obviously insane."

"Not so insane, Alistair," Wynne told him. "That woman is definitely no mage—she's not even human. I don't know for sure that she's a dragon, but she is definitely no human being. She's far too powerful and there are other… indications… that she's not human."

Alistair's heart sank to his knees. "What other indications?"

Wynne glanced at the door, looking positively paranoid. "I can't tell you, Alistair. I must go. I probably shouldn't even be talking to you." And she got up swiftly and bustled from the room, her eyes darting around as if she expected someone or something to swoop down onto her and destroy her any second.

He sat in the Library, staring sightlessly at the book in front of him. 'Other indications'? What could that possibly mean? Could Velistara really be what she claimed?

_When the Cultists of Beauty, Chaos, and Fire united and moved against the Velistara cult, not a single person remained to carry it onwards, and Velistara herself was said to have been attacked and torn to shreds by the five. Her cult never resurfaced, but no evidence of such a battle has ever been unearthed. There is some speculation that she lives, but there are few indications of where she might have gone._

_The leading theory amongst those who argue for her continued existence are those who claim she fled underground, citing a little-known and now destroyed journal that claims to have seen a massive, pale blue dragon enter a cavern and begin digging into it._

_Near to the place where the journal was found, lays Velistara's Cairn, which means a landmark of stone, or a burial place. It was long accepted that this cave was where her remains were buried until an excavation was done to unearth her._

_There was indeed a cavern dug into the hillside, and it is obvious that it was dug by draconic claws. Of this, there can be no argument. There is even a place where she is thought to have slept for some great period of time, covered in long-dead lichen. An analysis of the lichen is thought to answer the question of how the dragons could lie in stasis underground for long periods. The symbiotic lichen theory remains the dominant theory to this day._

_However, a path was carved beyond that, much more recent, thought to be around the time that the dragons altered to being black. This is thought to be the time period when they led the mages to the Black City, but such claims remain unproven and no true scholar accepts the theory at this time._

Alistair skimmed further, passing over various other theories of where she might have ended up, until 'Ferelden' caught his eye:

_There were later rumors of an unknown dragon seen passing into Ferelden, but such rumors abound. There is little to give these any greater credence than any of the myriad other theories and rumors, except for the nature of the sightings, which included claims of missing livestock, which is likely given that some areas of Ferelden claim too little large wildlife to sustain such a large creature. The other support for this theory is that each who claimed lost livestock, also claimed to have found some sort of what might be considered compensation—a gem, a trinket, suchlike._

_There is one claim among them that makes this writer consider this as the strongest possibility. One farmer claims that a child was deposited on their doorstep, obviously starving and having been left in the woods to die, no doubt. Such an act of mercy upon a discarded child (common practice for the day when a family had too many to feed already), would be consistent with the stories of this particular dragon._

The book went on, but Alistair put it down and tried to fight the lump rising in his throat. Velistara was thought to have fled to Ferelden. She must have come here after she woke to find herself black, betrayed by her own kind.

He didn't want to face it. He didn't want to admit that he could be so terribly wrong. But he knew it in his heart—he'd known all along.

His Velistara was really **the** Velistara, Dragon and Old God. Goddess. Whatever.

The knowledge sank into him like a heavy stone, turning his world upside down. Worst of all, he had delivered her straight into the hands of the mages, because he was scared. He wasn't just scared, he was terrified. He'd handed her over because he didn't want to take responsibility for her. He didn't want to face the truth of who she really was.

He didn't want to kill her himself.

But didn't she deserve better? Didn't she deserve, if she had to die, to do so in at the hands of someone who cared for her? Didn't she deserve to know that she was known for who she was, didn't she deserve the respect and dignity of seeing her own compassion mirrored in the eyes of the one who took her life?

He stood up and dumped the book back onto the shelf willy-nilly, walking out of the Library at a determined pace. He'd been studying for over a week. She was still alive; he could feel her song, though barely.

There'd been no more dreams of her, and he didn't blame her. He'd betrayed her, handing her off to someone else like an unwanted toy.

Well, he would apologize to her, and he would do this himself. For her sake, and for his own.


	14. The Bitter Taste of Betrayal

**Part 14: The Bitter Taste of Betrayal**

"I'm sorry, but she cannot be disturbed at the moment," the Templar at the door told him. When Alistair made to protest, the man's hand went to his sword and his chin jutted out.

Alistair's intuition tingled, screaming across his nerves like salt on a wound.

"Very well," Alistair told the belligerent Templar. "I will try again later."

"I believe you should go now, Alistair," said a voice behind him. "I understand your research is finished. I'm sure that the Warden Commander would be delighted to have you check in with him," First Enchanter Irving continued as Alistair spun to face him.

His smile looked strained, though. Alistair's nerves lit up again with that tingling sense that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

"Am I being thrown out?" he asked, striving to sound nonchalant. "I'm uncertain who told you that my research was finished, but I had hoped to do some more," he lied easily, telling himself that it was for a good cause—maybe the best one imaginable.

"No, no, of course not, my boy," Irving's smile became even more strained. "Perhaps I could send someone to assist you with it," he offered.

"Well, I've missed Wynne terribly," Alistair told him. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind helping me."

"I'm afraid Wynne is indisposed," Irving said. He looked nervous suddenly, and Alistair turned to find another man walking into the room from the other side; an officious, pompous looking man.

"Ser Deagon, may I introduce Alistair Theirin, Gray Warden," Irving offered the introduction.

Alistair pondered the full introduction, wondering why Irving seemed increasingly uncomfortable.

"Yes, yes, pleased to meet you," the man said, openly contemptuous despite the mild words. He never even looked at Alistair, simply scowled at Irving.

"Irving, we really need to step up the experiments. I'm entirely unhappy with the way that you and your people have been blocking progress. Your insipid…" his voice trailed off as he practically dragged Irving down the hallway away from Alistair without another word in his direction.

Alistair left to find Leliana and Terrinz. Something was not right at all. Irving's behavior and the strange, sharp-smelling man had set every part of Alistair ablaze with worry.

He found Terrinz and Leliana sitting together in the cafeteria, talking in low tones. He got a plate of food and sat down with them.

"Terrinz, have you dreamed of her in the last few days?"

The other man shook his head, his face lined with worry. "And I can barely smell her anymore, either. It's like she's far away again."

"Yes," Alistair agreed. "That's how her song feels, as well. Or like she's dying… slowly and with great suffering. Her song, distant as it is, is filled with pain."

Both Terrinz and Leliana went pale, no minor feat for the dark-skinned Terrinz. "We have to do something," Leliana said, her voice filled with anguish. "I know that she's dangerous, but that's not her fault!"

"I know," Alistair agreed with her, shoveling food into his mouth. He ate voraciously and quickly.

"We need to find her first," he told them. "But the Templars seem to be on high alert against us, so we'll have to do it quietly."

He looked at Leliana, and she nodded once, brief and quick. They finished eating and left the cafeteria.

"See if you can find out what they're doing, and why, as well," Alistair told her. "I think something else is going on here. I met a man named Ser Deagon who seemed very suspicious. I don't like him, and he didn't like me."

Leliana nodded, and then, pulling magic around herself, vanished into shadow. She crept off down the hallway, and Alistair and Terrinz went to the Library where they'd agreed to meet her after she had scouted to see what she could find.

The wait seemed like hours to Alistair, ticking away. He paced and tried to read, but couldn't focus. He paced some more.

"This is terrible," her voice startled him, appearing even before she did. "I can't believe it. How could Irving allow this atrocity?"

"I don't think he has a choice," Alistair said. "What did you find."

"You cannot begin to imagine how awful it is. They're using her in a horrible, cruel way! We must rescue her!"

"What way? What do you mean?" Alistair and Terrinz were both leaning forward.

"They drugged her. She's unconscious. They're cutting her body up and using it to repair other people's bodies. I heard them talking… they take out her organs and put them into the other person. She regrows her own within a few hours, and they do it again! Even unconscious, she was crying out in pain! They can't keep her too far under, he said, or she doesn't repair, so she has to be sedated enough to control her, but not block her regenerative capabilities. It's horrible!"

Alistair fought to keep his lunch down. He was sickened and horrified. Terrinz held Leliana as she wept against his shoulder and met Alistair's eyes. The shock and disbelief Alistair felt was mirrored in Terrinz' deep brown eyes and troubled look.

"They don't intend to kill her at all. They intend to keep her alive and harvest her like… like… I don't know. Like milking a cow or something. And they don't care how much they hurt her to do it!" Alistair banged his fist on the table. "They betrayed us!"

"Not they, just that Ser Deagon," Leliana said. "I heard Irving trying to reason with him, and Gregoior looked very displeased. But he has been put in charge, and they have to answer to him." She sniffled and pulled away from Terrinz with a grateful smile.

"Wynne!" The realization struck him like a thunderbolt. "Go find Wynne, please, Leliana. We'll rescue her first, and then we'll get Velistara."

Leliana nodded and faded from the room. This time, it was short moments before she was back. "She's locked into her quarters," she told them.

They left the room and went immediately to save Wynne first


	15. Templar Takes Knight

_As ever, I wish to once again thank you all. I am really enjoying hearing what you think of the story, and knowing that you're reading and enjoying it._

_So let me take a moment to celebrate and appreciate each and every one of you who reads and who comment. You truly make the effort that much more worthwhile, and I thank you for it.  
_

* * *

**Part 15: Warden Takes Knight**

They took out the two guards at Wynne's door after the two men refused to allow them to speak with her. It was unfortunate, but necessary. When they were dead, Leliana picked the lock and they dragged the two men inside, quickly cleaning the blood and locking the door behind them.

"I may never repair my relationship with the Circle after this," Wynne said sadly. "But I cannot sanction what they are allowing that monster to do to her. I'm sorry, Alistair. I should have told you in the Library, but I was hoping I could convince Irving and Gregoior…" She shook her head and sighed.

Alistair nodded. "I understand. Let's go. She shouldn't need to suffer a minute longer."

They reached the room where Velistara was being experimented on, and dispatched the two Templars at the doorway. Once again, Alistair regretted the necessity, but he had little choice in the matter.

The smug Templar who had refused to let Alistair see Velistara paid with his life. Another casualty in Ser Deagon's mad experiments. Despite disliking the man, Alistair vowed to make Deagon pay for the unnecessary loss of life.

"Really, must we do this?" Deagon said when they stepped into the room. "And over what? Nothing more than a demon," he went on. "When will you people learn? Aren't Gray Wardens supposed to use any and all means necessary to eliminate the Darkspawn? We can learn so much from researching this monstrosity."

"She's not a monstrosity," Alistair told him. "Unlike you. Although, actually, I think 'monstrosity' is a bit of an upgrade for you."

"Petty, childish insults? Is that the best you have to offer?"

"No," Alistair replied. "That wasn't an insult, that was honesty. It's my new favorite way to deal with demented science geeks. You weren't planning on ruling the world or anything, were you? Because it's bad enough being a demented science geek without the whole 'rule the world' business."

"How much are you charging for her organs?" Wynne asked from beside him. "How long were you going to exploit and abuse her?"

"Just enough for us all to be rich," he replied. "It's a limited commodity, after all. It takes so long for her to grow them back. I'm sure she'll eventually die from it, but the profits in the meantime… I do have the Queen's permission, you know. She gets a fair cut and decides who gets the use of the monstrosity. It's a fair deal for all of us."

"The deal is over," Alistair told him, feeling a calm overtake him.

"Gregoior, Irving, in the name of Queen Anora, I command you to assist me in taking out this garbage," Ser Deagon said, sweeping his sword towards Alistair and his companions.

Irving immediately dropped a repulsion glyph at his feet, and Gregoior moved towards Terrinz, who immediately hit him with a powerful blow to the groin. Despite his codpiece, Gregoior stood gasping for several moments while Terrinz moved behind him and sought the joints in his armor to strike at.

Alistair faced Ser Deagon, trying to ignore the terrible sight of the suffering Velistara behind him. He had to focus now. Soon, though, he promised her in his mind.

Deagon swung his sword, and Alistair brought his shield up to block it. The blow was incredibly powerful, though, knocking him backwards. He shook his head, scrambling back and away.

Another blow came before he could dodge it, and he felt numbness run through his arm. Deagon was powerful, very powerful. Alistair felt the first dawning recognition of the fact that he was overmatched. Especially with the others focused on trying to keep Gregoior and Irving occupied, but alive.

A blow from Deagon's sword clanged against his helm, making his vision swim and his nose bleed. He lunged forward, catching the other man under the chin with his own shield, slamming him backwards a step and then ramming the pommel of his sword down on top of the other man's helm with all his strength.

While Deagon was stunned, Alistair swung the heavy shield back up and, with all the force he could muster, rammed it three times against the other man's chest, causing him to stumble backwards and knock over his table of torturous instruments.

He broke away, breathing hard. Deagon immediately rallied and slammed his sword against Alistair's shield. Alistair cried out involuntarily as he felt the powerful blow snap his arm like a twig.

But a spell from Wynne jerked and twisted the arm back into position, wrenching another cry from him, even as he tried to ignore it and sliced low and hard with the sword while Deagon's shield was high.

Metal squealed against metal and the sword left a gouging hole behind. The metal of Deagon's legplate was buckled inwards, leaving the man with a limp as it impeded his movements and drew more blood with each step.

Swearing, Deagon lunged again, this time throwing enough force behind his attack to send Alistair sprawling. Alistair dropped his shield, grabbing the top rim of the Knight's breastplate.

As Deagon was dragged to the ground on top of him, Alistair positioned his sword so that Deagon was impaled on it. Surprise and shock registered on his face before he slumped forward in death.

Alistair shoved him off, standing up to face the other two.

"Stop, stop!" Irving raised his hands. "We surrender!"

Gregoior gave Irving a sour look, but dropped his sword and raised his hands. Blood ran from his armor in several places. "You know we'll have to report this to the Queen," he told Alistair.

"I know. I hope you do. And when you do, tell her that Velistara is not her concern, she is the concern of the Wardens. The treaty between the Wardens and Ferelden does not allow for her interference into Warden matters."

"I will tell her," Gregoior responded. "I'm not sure how she'll take it, but I will pass it on."

Quickly, they treated their wounds, Irving going so far as to cast a heal on Wynne. Then Alistair turned towards Velistara and the man lying next to her.

"Maker preserve me, I want to kill him all over again!" he shouted.

Velistara's eyes had been removed and placed into the other man's sockets. The man had been healed, but Velistara lay with empty, bleeding sockets.

"Can you heal her?" he asked Wynne.

"No!" Irving protested. "Don't heal her with magic. If you do, she won't regenerate them. She will be healed, but will never see again."

"This is perversity!" Wynne shouted at Irving.

He flinched but said nothing.

Alistair picked Velistara up and carried her from the room, uncaring if the others followed or not. He trembled with shame and regret. He couldn't believe what he had allowed them to do to her.


	16. Fugitive

**Part 16: Fugitive**

Alistair carried her from the tower without incident. Gregoior and Irving followed, commanding the Templars to stand down at each pair they encountered.

When they reached the front doors, Gregoior told him, "She's still a danger, you know. The Darkspawn will still be drawn to her."

"I'm all too aware of that, believe me," Alistair told him. "But she's not going to die like this. It's not right."

Gregoior nodded. "I will hold off pursuit as long as I can. It's all I have to offer."

"Here," Irving said, and gave them a package of foodstuffs.

Alistair didn't remark on the fact that Irving must have been prepared for this, to happen to have a bag of travel rations available so quickly. Gregoior's eyebrow rose, but he also said nothing.

The small group traveled into the darkness. Alistair couldn't bring himself to look at Velistara, terrified of what he'd seen. He couldn't face his own responsibility for not saving her from it.

"So where are we going?" Wynne asked him. "Do you have a plan?"

"Soldier's Peak," he told her. "It'll take time for the Darkspawn to work their way through the tunnels. If you don't want to come, you don't have to."

"But then we will be trapped there," Wynne argued.

"Yes," Alistair agreed. "But she'll be dead by then." He choked on the words, drawing her closer and sighing, swallowing the pain that tried to catch in his throat.

"You're going to kill her? How are you any better than them, then?" Leliana cried.

Alistair turned on her. "Do you want a full scale Blight? Do you want an Archdemon more powerful than any the world has ever seen? Do you? Do you really? We can barely fight them off as it is. We've won every time by barest luck. This last time was the worst. We're badly outnumbered, the gryphons are gone, the Gray Wardens are at less than one tenth the number they were in the past. If we have another Blight even half as severe as the last one, we are finished! A Blight on the scale that would happen if Velistara is tainted would be the end of everything!"

With every word, Leliana grew paler. "I know that, it's just… there's got to be another way!"

"There is no other way," Alistair told her, struggling against despair. "So when she dies, I want her to die knowing that somebody cared. Knowing that I know who she is now, seeing compassion in the face of the person who kills her. Not as some tortured lab nug!"

"Okay," Leliana said, holding her hands up as if to fend him off. "I'm sorry, you're right."

They camped that night, and Alistair found himself waking up frequently to check on Velistara. He found to his relief that she seemed to have regrown her eyes as they'd claimed she would, but she still slept heavily, not waking up in response to anything he tried.

Morning dawned cold, and they got on the road again quickly. Although he was tired from the battle and carrying her, Alistair ignored it and continued carrying Velistara. When Terrinz offered to take her, Alistair refused, shaking his head silently.

She was his burden. A precious, slight, yet infinite burden.

He sent Terrinz to scout around. By midmorning, Velistara's song had strengthened, which was the good news. But Terrinz returned to camp with bad news. They were definitely being followed. By not one or even two groups, but apparently by at least five very large groups of soldiers, mages, and rogues.

Terrinz couldn't get close enough to see them clearly, fearful with so many moving about.

They picked up their pace, fearful of how so many had found them so quickly. They hadn't expected pursuit for several days, at least. Alistair, if he were honest, hadn't expected pursuit for over a week.

So they pushed hard towards Soldier's Peak and the fortress that had been reclaimed there. Alistair wished he could send word ahead to the merchants there, but knew in his heart that if this failed… it wouldn't matter. Death would come to everyone if the Darkspawn caught up to Velistara.

But he couldn't go back to the Circle of Magi. Despite Irving's help in their flight, he didn't trust them any longer.

So he plodded onwards.

"Alistair?" her voice was weak and surprised.

"Velistara," he cried. "You're alive."

"Yes," she answered, looking up at him. He was surprised to note that her eyes had grown back blue. Though he supposed it made sense. She had been blue before, perhaps it had just been natural to reclaim part of herself in such a simple way.

He hugged her close, and secretly, he was glad. With her hazel eyes and strawberry hair, she'd looked almost like his sister, and he'd found it disconcerting to be aroused by someone who almost looked like she could be related to him. But the alteration in her eye color had eased some of that… though it did nothing to quell his passion for her.

He hugged her close, still walking. "Are you hungry? We can't stop, we're being chased." He turned to Leliana. "Can you get her something to eat, quickly?"

"Thank you," she said. "I can walk now."

"No," Alistair told her. He could feel her slight frame trembling against him. "Not yet."

She relaxed against him, then ate awkwardly while he walked. Before she had even finished, she dropped back to sleep, but Alistair felt no worry or concern this time.

Her song was roaring through his blood and in his mind.

He looked over to see a grin on Terrinz' face, and knew the other man felt it as well, in his own way.

Terrinz caught the look and said, "Cookies" with a grin.

Alistair couldn't stop his responding grin. 'Cookies' indeed.

Later that day, they entered the caverns, and Alistair explained his intentions of using them to confuse and hopefully lose their pursuit.


	17. Labyrinth

**Part 17: Labyrinth**

Alistair allowed Velistara to walk only for short periods, to rest his own body and enable him to continue on. He refused to share the duty of carrying her with Terrinz, instead sending him to give misleading signs of their passage, hoping that within the depths of the mountain passageways that led to Soldier's Peak, he could at least discourage their pursuit.

In the worst case, if they could reach the stone edifice first, they could prepare and hold them off long enough to finish the sacred duty of ending Velistara's life with dignity and peace.

She was resigned to her fate, but he felt far less resigned to his. This wasn't what he became a Gray Warden for. Killing Compassion just didn't sit well with him. The very idea repelled him, and the more he thought of having to actually perform the action, the less resigned he was to it.

Yet he knew that there was no other choice. He accepted that knowledge, while he fought the end result of it.

But inevitably, they drew closer and closer to Soldier's Peak. To his and Terrinz' frustration, and the worry and concern of the women, the efforts to mislead, block, and confound their pursuers seemed utterly in vain.

To the contrary, it had managed only a single, and quite unpleasant result…. They had now joined forced, instead.

So rather than being pursued by multiple small groups, they had one large army on their tail… a rather relentless one, at that.

They'd even collapsed a tunnel, and the Blighters had dug it out! Now that, in Alistair's estimation, was dedication!

So he finally gave up and took the direct route straight to the great fortress. He pushed them all towards it, carrying Velistara more, against her objections that she was much stronger, thank-you-very-much-and-quit-babying-me.

A sense of growing urgency pushed at him, and he noticed that Velistara was beginning to get that wild-eyed 'Darkspawn' look. "They're coming, aren't they?" he asked her.

She looked into his eyes sadly and nodded.

Well, he thought, that could work somewhat in their favor… the Darkspawn would take care of the massing army pursuing them. But he hated the very idea, because that army would be needed if… if… if something went wrong.

Or if his courage to do what had to be done failed him…

He tried to push the thought away, but found he succeeded only in brooding over it instead. Could he really kill her? He looked at the woman—no, the dragon—in his arms, and doubted himself.

He remembered once something one of the sisters of the Chantry had said to him, "Beware of lust. Men have destroyed kingdoms as a result of lusting over women."

Would Alistair be remembered for destroying the world because of a woman?

No. Never. He looked behind him again as the sense of urgency built within him.

Should he do it here? Now?

No. He would try to reason with the army encroaching behind them. He would seek their aid in destroying the Darkspawn that came up through the tunnels. He would surrender if they would help defeat the Darkspawn… after he had… done what had to be done.

They reached Soldier's Peak and moved the merchants inside, slamming and bolting the massive front doors behind them.

Levi Dryden and his family had made tremendous changes in the fortress, it was clean, dry, and even well stocked with fuel. Alistair was relieved, and grateful.

Then, he went to the stop of the battlements as the first of the army entered the courtyard below.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" he shouted down.

"Alistair? Is that you?" asked a familiar voice.

"Command Xander?"

"The same," the voice responded cheerfully. "Can we come in? It's kinda cold out here."

Alistair opened the door and let hundreds of Gray Wardens, massed from Orlais, Ferelden, and beyond, into the Fortress.


	18. Passing the Torch

**Part 18: Passing the Torch**

"There are still five of my men trying to get through the tunnels," Xander told him as the Gray Wardens continued to pour in through the door.

As Alistair stared at the growing numbers in surprise, Xander chuckled at him. "Several more contingents joined us after going into the caverns. I'm surprised you didn't know it was Wardens, we could feel you ahead of us, that's why you couldn't shake us. Though I must say, some of your methods were ingenious."

"When you're close to Velistara, it's hard to sense anyone else," Alistair admitted.

"Velistara?"

"She's a dragon, trapped in human form, and she's where the call is coming from," Alistair said. "It's undeniable," he added at Xander's skeptical look. "She's definitely Velistara, the Old God. Haven't you seen a black dragon in your dreams?"

"Yeah," Xander said, his brow wrinkling in thought. "A lot of us have, actually. But not an Archdemon… different."

"Not yet, anyway," Alistair said tersely. He explained quickly, leaving much out, but nothing important. When he was done, he said, "I'm going to go check on her now. You guys settle in here. We'll try to get your men out tomorrow."

"I don't think we'll be able to. They're… they're behind the Darkspawn horde that's coming through the tunnels. And I don't think we'd be able to fight our way back to them even if we'd have time to." He looked regretful and sad.

He fiddled with the pommel of his sword. "Listen, Alistair, before you go… I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. About Loghain, and the way things were left between us. I looked for you, but…"

He straightened up and picked up his helm. He reached over and pulled the Commander's badge off of it.

"Anyway, I'm stepping down as Warden Commander. I'd like you to take over."

Alistair warred within himself. He wanted to shout, to yell, to refuse simply for the sake of perversity. But Xander had done the one thing Alistair never expected: apologized.

"Why'd you do it?" Alistair asked him. "How could you reward him for what he did?"

"Alistair," Xander said, his face pained. "It was no reward for him. There were only two of us left, and Riordan. We needed every Gray Warden we could get. I didn't want to do it, I wanted to murder him like he did to everyone that got in his way. But what real choice did I have?" He held his hands out in mute appeal.

To his surprise, Alistair found the ice around his heart melting and falling away. This man had been his friend. Maybe he did the wrong thing, but he did it for the right reasons.

Nodding, he clasped Xander's forearm. Xander handed him the Commander's badge, and Alistair stared at it. "Why?"

"I'm… I'm getting married," Xander told him, his face going pink. At Alistair's raised brow, he concluded, "Anora."

He looked nervous and scared, and Alistair realized he expected to be judged for marrying Anora. He grinned and clasped him on the back. "Why you lucky mabari! Queen's consort, huh? Good on you!"

He left Xander grinning like a fool in the foyer and made his way up the stairs. His heart ached with sorrow and loss. His friend was getting married, and he was off to kill the woman he loved.

He frowned at the realization. He really did love her. He loved her as woman—and even as a dragon.

He found her in her rooms, but she was sleeping. He swept the soft strawberry blond hair back from her face, seeing how wan and tired she looked.

Turning to leave, he stopped, making a decision he didn't even realize he was pondering. He pulled off his armor until he was in soft leather breeches and a tunic. Quietly, he crawled in the bed with her, pulling her close and smiling as she sighed and melded to him in her sleep.

He laid his head back and found himself in the Fade at the shore of her pond.


	19. Interlude

**Part 19: Interlude**

She looked like she was sleeping. But she looked tired, battered, almost translucent, as well. He found himself in his smallclothes, but felt no shame, embarrassment, or even sexual feelings as he laid on the sand beside her head.

"Ooo," he said, "fruit!" He got up to go get one of the mangoes, a fruit he hadn't had since he was a child, since they didn't grow anywhere in Ferelden. And of course, the Chantry never bothered with such expensive luxuries.

"Indeed," her voice came to his mind, though she didn't stir. "Your presence here has altered it. It is responding to your desires."

He turned to look at her. She was still a dragon. "Not all of them," he thought before he could stop the errant idea.

The song ripped with amusement. "I will always be thus here, Alistair. I cannot shapeshift here, only in the world of reality."

He turned back to the mango tree, hoping that she hadn't heard absolutely all of the thought about her still being a dragon. Hiding his blush, he said, "I wonder if that's what a mango tree really looks like?"

"I suppose it is," she told him. "I have never seen one."

He came back over and sat down beside her head. "You sound exhausted."

"What they did took a lot out of me," she told him. "I am weary and was near death. I do not think I would have continued in the Fade if they had completed their intended actions."

"Why didn't you fight them?"

"I could not, as I was not conscious. That is why he drugged me. I think he would have left me conscious if he hadn't known I would not stand for his activities. If I had been conscious, he could have gotten much more from me than he managed."

Alistair shuddered, and threw the mango pit into the water. It sank for a moment and then vanished.

He looked over at her and felt a strange, abiding tenderness. He fought tears as he reached out and stroked along the bridge of her muzzle and over her eye. She sighed, and he felt the soft hum of her song intensify.

It was a strange feeling, bittersweet and melancholy. He felt somehow humbled by the fact that he could bring comfort to such an ancient, mighty creature. That she sought his company, that she sang to him.

Yes, he loved her. He couldn't help it. And he knew suddenly that the other Gray Wardens loved her, as well.

Suddenly, an idea dawned on him, and he watched her.

She seemed to be getting better with every passing moment.

"We're healing you!" he said in awe.

Her head lifted. "It will take some weeks before I am healthy again. But yes, you are."

"Because we love you," he said, a question… or maybe a statement.

Her song surged. Pride, gratitude.

"Yes."

She lowered her head again. He fought between terrible, soul-devouring regret… and joy that the Gray Wardens could heal her simply by appreciating her and loving her.

"I wish…" he started.

"Shhh," she said. "What must be, must be, Alistair. Come, let us play together and have joy in this time that remains to us."

So Alistair went into the water and soon found himself lost in the simplicity of the Fade, where holding onto more than one emotion at a time was difficult at best. He laughed and splashed and chased the dragon he had come to love more than he'd loved anyone else in his entire life.


	20. A Final Request

_Contains explicit sexual content._

* * *

**Part 20: A Final Request**

He awoke to find her looking at him. Her blue eyes stared brightly into his, and he fought the instant surge of attraction he felt towards her.

"Good morning," he said. Then he felt inane and stupid and insipid.

She smiled and reached up to touch his face. "Thank you, Alistair," she said softly.

He swallowed hard before managing a rather squeaky, "You're welcome."

But she was looking at him in a way he'd never dreamed possible. Never thought to even hope for. It was insane to think it was even… that kind of look.

Her hand traveled down his face, running across his neck and to his chest. Then she shifted to turn more fully towards him. "Alistair," she said softly, and his breath ran away from him.

"Velistara, I… I should probably leave now. I don't think I can—"

"Stay," she said, but it was a soft plea, not a command.

He groaned and fought valiantly against the urge to kiss her.

"Alistair. If the Darkspawn had caught me, I would have been violated, tainted, consumed. I would have been twisted into something I do not even want to consider. I understand human sexuality. If I am to be taken, I wish to be taken in love. If I am to be filled with the essence of another, then I wish it to be you. I do not want to go to the Fade without having felt the connection for which I was created. I am symbiotic by nature, and I have never experienced that for which I was made."

"Please," she said softly, and he was lost.

He pulled her closer and took her mouth in his, seeking the sweetness within. He groaned low and deep as he plundered her lips, slipping between them with his tongue to seek the treasures and secrets within.

She tasted sweet, and his senses were filled with the smell of her body. He wished he had bathed, but threw the thought aside as her song surged all around him. He felt her breasts against him, her leg wrapping around him, and he groaned again.

He was short on restraint as the sexual tension he'd been fighting for days rose to the fore. He realized suddenly that he wasn't just feeling his own desire, but hers as well, reflected in the song.

He pulled away then. "Uh, do the others feel that, too?" he asked.

She chuckled. "The lust? No. They only sense my presence, not my emotions."

"Whew," was all he said as he kissed her again, and pulled the tunic she was wearing up and off. He realized she still wore no undergarments and made a note to explain those to her… and then realized the pointlessness of it.

So he would make this moment as perfect as he could for her… and could only pray to the Maker that what he'd been taught hadn't all been a big joke.

He slipped his hand up to her breast, kneading it gently, feeling its weight and softness in his hand. He had to fight to keep from orgasming right then as her desire and pleasure surged. Well, he considered that to be an up side, despite the inconvenience factor—he knew when he was getting it right.

He flicked a finger over her breast, then turned to give the other the same treatment. She curved towards him and her song sweetened.

He took one soft pink nipple into his mouth, flicking and licking it with his tongue. Only his Templar discipline kept him from losing his control as she cried out and clung to his head.

He felt it when it was time to move on, and he kissed across her belly, shoving the bedclothes off of them both to pull her breeches off and drop them on the ground. She was now naked and beautiful before him.

He looked up into her eyes and felt overwhelmed with the love he felt for her. He struggled against the rising tide of sorrow and moved to kiss her. Then he let his hand slip between her legs, until she was panting and crying his name in a soft, husky voice.

He grinned, suddenly feeling very powerful, and reminded again that this was an ancient being…. And he was her first, as she was his.

He was going to make it count. He was going to make this moment the best of her life. He kissed again down her belly, admiring the curves and planes of her body. Then he was there, and he slid his fingers into her, seeking and finding the spot he'd been taught about.

He rubbed the small nub with one finger as he held the skin that covered it back with his other hand. She cried out and grasped the blankets, her head weaving back and forth. His name on her lips was pure ecstasy, and he returned the favor by dipping his head to slide his tongue along the folds of pink flesh that peeked out of strawberry blond curls.

Soon, she was gasping and panting and he was fascinated not only by her responses, but by the pleasure he could feel rushing through her song.

He was throbbing in near-pain by that point, his penis aching to claim what his lips were possessing.

He sensed her hovering on the verge of release, and pulled away, leaving her panting and hungry on the bed. He rose over her, lying against her, but not entering her. He slid against her, then said softly, "I'm afraid this may hurt the first time," he told her.

"I understand," she told him. "I know the basic idea. The pain should be quick."

He nodded, and then once more slipped his fingers down to tease her. Two more times, he let her approach the peak before pulling away, leaving her groaning in frustrated desire.

Then he slipped down and used his tongue again, teasing and tasting and flicking at her until she crested over the edge and he was forced to grip the covers himself else he followed her over into it.

When she had subsided a bit, he slipped up her body and searched for a moment until he finally figured out the right spot. He pushed until he met resistance. He looked into her eyes, trying to communicate that he was sorry it would have to hurt, and thrust one swift, hard shove.

Her eyes watered, but she laid still beneath him for a moment. He felt the pain subside through the shared connection of her song, and when the music was once more soothing and sweet, he began to move in and out.

She gasped and wrapped her legs around him, her feet digging into him. He didn't care, he was enveloped in wet heat that made him absolutely crazy. He struggled to keep from losing it, trying to find the Templar training that had aided him before, but then just stopped. He could barely stand it, but he was determined to make it last for her.

He leaned forward on his arms, looking at her and panting. "I just need a minute," he said, his voice husky and throaty, so that he barely recognized it as his own.

She grinned at him, and pushed him over, using surprisingly strong legs to throw him onto his back. Then, to his utter surprise—and great pleasure, she mounted him, guiding him inside of her.

He was lost in the heat, the sweetness, the tightness of her body, and he cried her name as he gripped her waist. Their bodies slapped together, the sound echoing off of the room as she panted, riding him as he fought to keep from his orgasm for just a few moments longer.

But he could not, not with her astride him, her hair wild and beautiful, her breasts bouncing as she bobbed up and down on him, and her eyes gazing into his. He grasped her hips and thrust up into her, crying out as he filled her, his body contracting and his balls contracting as he released into her body.

With a cry, she orgasmed with him, her body contracting as if to draw him in deeper.

He felt her raw emotion through the bond between them… it was overwhelming love, joy… and fierce triumph.

She slumped forward onto him, and he was jerked unceremoniously into the Fade after her.


	21. Confrontation

**Part 21: Confrontation**

"I've made Alistair Warden Commander in my place. The wedding will be—"

In the middle of what he was saying to her, Xander toppled forward onto the table in front of Wynne. She stared at him in surprise even as other Gray Wardens began to topple to the ground around the room, some knocking their plates to the ground.

"What in the Maker's name is going on?" Leliana asked as she rushed into the room. "It's like this everywhere!"

Levi came in not far behind her. "The Darkspawn, too! They're all slumped over out there like they're asleep!"

Wynne and Leliana's eyes met. They rushed outside and, despite the problem in the fortress, took the opportunity to kill as many of them as they could.

**oOoOoOo**

They were on the top of Soldier's Peak fortress. He stood on the battlements, and saw Gray Wardens all around him.

Before he could ask what was going on, he saw her. Velistara was on the battlements with them, and as they all stared in shock, a brilliant light began to glow around her, swirling and spinning and twisting around her.

As it moved along her body, she altered, until she was entirely white. They all stared in shocked silence as she was enveloped and changed. Not a one said a single word, all of them enthralled by the strange change taking place right in front of their eyes.

A bellowing roar sounded from a distance, and the landscape below the fortress altered, become a vast, rolling green plain. Across it flew three dragons, all black.

"Oh boy, that's not good," Alistair said. "That's really, really not good."

"Velistara! We have come for what is ours!" roared Urthemiel. "Give them to us, and we will let you live on in the Fade!"

The white Velistara leaped to the wall and roared. "They are mine now! Mine! You shall never have them!"

She leaped from the battlement, powerful wings lifting her into the air. "Mine! Do you hear me? You may surround them with your monsters, but you will never take them!"

"You could have cooperated, Velistara. You could have let them take you. You could have joined us. But you seduced him instead, and now you must pay."

"The coupling was voluntary! He was willing, and accepted the consequences without fear," she roared back, her mental voice nearly knocking Alistair back. "They are mine! It is as it was meant to be!"

The largest of the Archdemons roared and leaped towards the shining Velistara. "Then you must be destroyed, here and in the World!"

The two dragons met with a sickening thud that Alistair heard even from the battlements.

Shouts arose from behind him, but the Wardens looked down and realized that they were trapped, even here, by Darkspawn. They could only watch helplessly as the two dragons grappled, the other two spinning and swirling around them, biting and slashing whenever they got the chance to do so.

"No!" Alistair cried in despair. "No, no, no! Oh, Maker, help me help her!"

All around him, he could feel the growing agitation and despair of his fellow Wardens as if it were his own.

A deeply resonant voice that seemed to come from nowhere spoke to him. "Are you certain, Alistair Theirin? Are you certain that you are willing to pay the price to help her? It will involve tremendous suffering. You will be changed forever."

Was he sure? "Yes. Yes! I am sure!"

"So shall it be," the resonant voice announced, with mingled pride and pity.


	22. Metamorphosis

**Part 22: Metamorphosis**

Light flickered in the corner of his eye. He turned, and found the same swirling light that had covered Velistara was rolling over him. His skin began to tingle, and he felt his stomach lurch and twist, but for several moments, that was all.

This isn't so bad, he thought, until he felt a strange twisting in his back and jaw.

Then he was screaming as his body was forcibly altered. He shrieked as muscled were shredded, altered, twisted, and pulled. Bones were elongated, shifted, restructured. His skin peeled away, agony flaring through him as it was replaced.

He writhed and cried out, trying instinctively to run from the pain. But his body lurched and twisted and jerked, and he groaned when he could no longer give voice to screams of terrified agony.

He lost all contact with conscious thought as terrible pain screamed through him, twisting, shoving, altering his body inch by torturous inch.

When it was done, he lay still, gaping and gasping as he began to realize that he was still alive… alive… and altered beyond his comprehension. He shifted and rolled, fighting to right himself until he realized that he was, as promised, forever changed.

Then he gave in to it, and let the instincts of the dragon take over. He tucked his wings in and then rolled to his belly, shoving up onto his legs… his claws sinking into the stone of the fortress.

Then suddenly, he reveled in it. He swept his powerful wings wide. He leaped to the highest battlement and threw his head forward. He meant to shout, but instead his massive maw let loose a mighty bugling roar.

Then he took in a deep breath, and a great gout of golden fire roared from his lips.

He felt power such as he'd never known.

"Hey!" he thought to Velistara, "I'm getting the hang of this fast!"

"Not fast enough!" she cried, and he remembered that she was in terrible danger.

He leaped off of the battlement, dropping precariously close to the Darkspawn below. Then his wings caught air and he leaped upwards, pushing hard with mighty wings that swept him higher and higher. Then he roared again, blazing across the land towards the fighting dragons.

He felt Velistara's growing fear, and pushed harder. She was dreadfully weakened, and it wasn't until he had this new form that he realized just how bad it really was.

Pushing himself, he strained into his wings, winging swiftly into the battle.


	23. Dogfight

**Part 23: Dogfight**

He struck the nearest dragon, whom he somehow knew to be Razikale, knocking him into a roll. Razikale recovered quickly, though darting back towards Alistair.

He grappled onto the black dragon as it sought to cut into him with treacherous claws. Brilliant blue flames erupted, and Alistair solved that problem by the simplest of expediencies. He bit Razikale on the muzzle, shutting his jaws and causing him to choke on his own flame.

Then he swiftly, powerfully latched onto the other dragon, twisting and lurching to inexpertly swing him in a circle as they plunged towards the ground.

Moments before they landed, he shifted, using his wings to alter their fall so that he was on top of Razikale. They landed with a stunning, mind-blowing impact. Alistair gaped and gasped, staggering off of the other dragon, every bone in his new body aching from the impact.

"That was stupid," he conceded.

"Effective, and distracting," Velistara told him, and he heard glee in her voice.

He looked up to find she had managed to dislodge herself from Urthemiel's grip. Alistair turned to finish off the hapless Razikale. If he could kill him in the Fade, the Darkspawn would never find him and there would be one less possibility for a Blight.

"Alistair!" her cry stopped him and he turned to see Lusacan heading her off, forcing her head-on with a mountain range. She fought for altitude, but she couldn't make it.

He paused a moment longer, then leaped into the air towards Lusacan. It was his turn to head the other dragon off, but he didn't even pause. Rather than simply steer his course, he leaped on him and ripped into a wing.

But Lusacan would not be downed so easily. Alistair had already fallen once, and Lusacan knew it. A second impact could kill him… and Lusacan was counting on it. He grappled to Alistair, sinking claws into him and scrabbling with his rear claws, trying to bring Alistair down with him.

Taking a queue from Razikale, Alistair waited until they were near the ground, and then erupted a brilliant plume of golden fire. With a shriek, Lusacan let go, his face and neck badly burned.

He fell the ground with a thud, Alistair barely managing to spread his wings and break his own fall. He landed hard, but uninjured. Once more, he turned to end the threat of another Blight, only to see two falling dragons plummeting his direction.

He leaped into the air, grappling Velistara the same way that he'd been grappled a moment ago by Lusacan. He knew intuitively that there was simply no way that she could survive such a fall.

But Urthemiel held on fiercely, dragging them all towards the ground with inevitable speed.

Alistair fell back on his old standby… he simply blew flames straight into the other dragon's face.

With a scream that sounded remarkably human, the Archdemon let go, but the victory was not without its price.

He grabbed Alistair's wing, shredding it as he continued to fall while Alistair's wings bore the brunt of stalling him and Velistara. It was Alistair's turn to scream in agony as the tender membranes of his wing were ripped to ribbons. He faltered, but the drop to the ground was slowed enough that he was able to drop Velistara and land roughly on his own chin, rolling over and over several times.

He lay then, beached on his back like a turtle, gasping and struggling to regain his air. He turned his head and saw Urthemiel struggling to rise, despite his injuries. Alistair rolled over and leaped, landing on the other dragon, ignoring the agony tearing through his wing.

They grappled and fought, rising onto their hind legs to claw and rake at each other.

Alistair gambled then. He'd been a human too long not to…. He let the other dragon push him backwards. The instant his hind legs were free, he applied them brutally and mercilessly to Urthemiel's abdomen.

He shrieked and leaped backwards, claws scrabbling to hold in his intestines. Alistair dropped to his forelegs, nursing his aching, torn wing.

"Alistair," her voice was soft in his mind, and he turned to her, immediately concerned.

He moved to her and began sniffing along her body, searching for injuries. Then he realized what he was doing and pulled his head back.

"Sorry. That was weird."

"Only to you, dear. Only to you. I've been a dragon a bit longer than you."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'll live."

Alistair looked up, searching for the other two dragons. "They've escaped," he said, disappointed on a profound level.

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"I'm glad you're okay." He laid down, crossing his forelegs. "So, I think I'm stuck like this."

"Only in the Fade. In the world, you will remain human."

He looked himself over. He figured, as best he could tell, that he wasn't all that bad of a specimen of dragon-ness.

"Splendid, my love. Just splendid."

He grinned at her, a draconic grin that made him wonder if he looked as fierce as her when she grinned like that.

"Why am I gold, not white or black?"

She looked at him, and he felt her sorrow. "You are still tainted, Alistair. You will always be tainted, because of the Darkspawn blood."

He pondered that for a few moments. "It's okay," he said after a few moments. "It's what makes me effective as a Warden."

Then he stood up. "Besides, I think it's pretty sexy, don't you?"

She grinned at him, but said nothing.

He cocked his head at her. "So can we… you know… while we're here, in this form?"

She stood up and nuzzled him. "I don't know. But I know how to find out."

Then he was awake in the Fortress, with Velistara. He stared at her in shock. She was as altered here as she had been in the Fade.


	24. Revelation and Redemption

**Part 24: Revelation and Redemption**

She sat up on him, looking down into his eyes. Her blue eyes gleamed at him, and he couldn't help but stare at her. Her hair was white. Involuntarily, he looked down—all of it.

He blushed, but she smiled at him.

"We should get dressed. Probably quickly. I think there are going to be some questions very soon," he told her, regretting the necessity—he could think of another use of his time.

They were no sooner dressed than the banging on the door began. Xander, followed by Terrinz, Leliana, Wynne, and several other Gray Wardens barged in immediately.

"Explain!" Xander barked at him.

Alistair raised his hands to quell the overflow as they all started talking at once.

"Silence!" Velistara shouted suddenly.

When they were all quiet, staring at her in shock, not only because of her shout, but her radically altered appearance, she said, "You two must stay. It is not my place to divulge Warden secrets. The rest of you, follow me."

She led them up the stairs, stepping out onto the roof without pause, despite the cold and snow. The Wardens followed her, crowding around her, trying to ignore the shouting of the Darkspawn below, who were also awake again.

"Because I am now mated to one of you, I can make you an offer today, but it is not without cost," she told them. "You may partake of my blood. In so doing, you will never again require the blood of an Archdemon. All of those already Gray Wardens will be able to partake safely. Those who are being initiated face the same dangers as before, sadly.

"But the differences for you are these… first, that you will now live full lives, with a condition that I will tell you in a moment.

"Secondly, you will experience not only the call of the Darkspawn and any Archdemon they locate… but also my own.

"The price for this is that these conditions exist only so long as I live. If I die, so will everyone who has taken of my blood who is past the years of his or her Joining. In the hour of my death, they will go with me. The younger or newer ones will return to things as they are now."

The Gray Wardens spoke for some time about it, but ultimately, they all agreed that the 'deal' was worth it. They chose to bind themselves to her, since they already felt her call continually anyway, and because the risk of sudden death was so much better than having to go to Orzammar while still in their youth.

"We will take your offer, Lady," Xander said, bowing.

The other Gray Wardens bowed as one behind him, as well.

"So be it," she said.

Then, with a surge of swirling light, she shimmered and changed, standing before them as a perfect white dragon.

"Bring the chalice," she said, her voice resounding in their minds.

They did, and one by one, they drank of the blood she let flow into it from a wound in her foreleg.

"Now what?" Alistair asked.

"There are Darkspawn to kill." The Gray Wardens cheered at her statement.

But Alistair felt a strange pain, a deep disappointment rising in him. He was overjoyed that she was to live. He was filled with a thrilling sense of wonder that it had been because of him.

Yet, he didn't want to share her. He didn't want to be just another Gray Warden to her.

She bumped him with her nose. "Do not be jealous of them, Alistair. They are my children. You are my mate."


	25. Battle Royale

**Part 25: Battle Royale**

"They won't sense you anymore?" Xander asked.

"My bond with Alistair blocks their ability to sense me," she told him. "All of the psychic energy they sense is bound to him now."

Xander nodded grimly. "Let's kill us some Darkspawn, then. Archers, take the battlements. The rest of you, let's get down there and kick some ass!"

"Wait for my signal before you go out," Velistara told him.

"Yes, my lady." He snapped a salute and left to follow the men downstairs.

"Come with me," Velistara said to Alistair. "I have made some modifications to my body. I hope they serve you well."

She leaned forward, bending her foreleg. Alistair climbed up it and leaped onto her back. He found a perfect saddle-like depression between two of her spines. The one directly ahead of him branched out into two, and he found them perfect to grasp onto.

"Hold on tight with your legs," she told him. "If you don't, you may still fall off. This will not be like riding in the Fade, Alistair. It will be far rougher and require much more focus and attention."

"Let's do it," he told her, gripping her around the neck with his legs.

"You'll have to do better than that," she told him.

He shrugged. "I will if I have to, but I don't want to hurt you," he explained.

Amusement. "I can barely even feel you, beloved. Believe me, you will need to hold on much tighter."

So he did. She walked up to the wall, stepping up onto the battlement as archers scrambled out of her way. Snaking her head out, she roared, a powerful, draconic roar that reverberated off the mountains and shook the walls.

She said, "Come, my mate. Let us vanquish our enemies this day!"

Then they were falling, and Alistair suddenly had no problem at all clinging to her with all of his strength. She swooped towards the Darkspawn horde, and belched flame. No longer blue, it burned white, as pure and hot a fire as ever had burned anywhere. She cut a great swath through the Darkspawn, then lifted to fly straight upwards.

Alistair clung to her back like a burr, as scared as he was thrilled.

"Hold on, my love, we're turning!"

He needed no encouragement to hold on with all of his might. She turned and for a moment, he felt like he was in free-fall, until her wings whipped out and caught the air. With a jerk, they were flying again, and Alistair had to cling and duck to keep from being blown off.

More fire roared, and he smelled ash and heat.

"Look!" There were Darkspawn at the tunnel's entrance, and five Gray Wardens trapped in a circle of them, fighting for their lives.

"This is going to be ugly, they are not mine," she told him. Then she warned him again, "Hold on tight. This will be nasty and bumpy."

He felt his stomach roll over, but gamely held on.

"Go now, Xander," he heard her say, distantly, as if she weren't speaking to him—as she wasn't.

He knew that Xander and the other Gray Wardens were pouring out of the front of the fortress now, attacking the Darkspawn there.

Abruptly, he was thrown forward onto the 'handle spine' as he now thought of it. She had landed on her back legs, her powerful haunches braking her momentum, but barely.

She reached down and snatched up the Gray Wardens, right from the midst of their battle. Then she warned again, "Hold on!" and leaped. It was a powerful leap that took her some distance up the side of the mountain. She shoved off from it, throwing him against the spine behind him. Then her wings caught and she flapped towards the fortress.

"Ow! Stop that, it hurts! I'm saving you!" he heard her say, and realized the Gray Wardens had been slashing at her, trying to free themselves.

"This is gonna hurt!" she warned them. Then she skimmed in close to the top of the fortress and swooped, flapping roughly to hover over them. She dropped them the remaining distance, a short, but not painless drop.

"There are more inside, injured!" one of them shouted up at her.

"Very well," she replied mentally. "How many?"

"Three!" came the answer. "Though they may be dead already. The Darkspawn no doubt went in after them."

She lifted and veered back towards the cave entrance.

The entire tide of Darkspawn had turned that direction, now trying to escape.

"Are you ready to fight?" she asked Alistair.

"Yes!" he shouted, not mentioning that it would be easier than riding her, which was turning out to be nowhere near as thrilling as it was in the fade.

This time, she came in breathing fire, clearing a massive pathway to the cave mouth. Then she landed, and he dropped the ground as she twisted around to fight, lunging and biting at Darkspawn.

He joined her, slashing and cutting and slicing.

She reared back beside him, landing very near him. He felt a thrill of fear at first, until he realized she'd deliberately crushed a Hurlock who had been trying to flank him.

Her eye dipped level with his head, and he grinned at her and slashed another Genlock down. Fire spewed from her open maw, and he couldn't help himself, he laughed.

Fighting beside her was thrilling—albeit rather terrifying.

Then, as suddenly as the fighting began, they ran out of Darkspawn.


	26. Resolution

**Part 26: Resolution**

The three Wardens in the cave were still alive, with no injuries that the Warden healers couldn't heal. Taken privately, all eight of the remaining wardens there chose to accept Velistara's offer.

Xander promised to talk with Anora, but told Alistair that it was unlikely in the extreme that she even knew what Deagon had been up to. It wasn't something she would authorize, and no doubt when she was informed, she would see to it that there was no retribution against Alistair.

But Alistair insisted that they discuss the matter of him being Warden Commander, and so they were gathered in the large common room at the bottom of the fortress.

"I think you're the best man for the job," Xander told Alistair immediately. "I don't even think it's up for debate. You already accepted the commission, and…"

Alistair held up his hand. "I'm not arguing that. Not that I'm being arrogant, but I'm not interested in arguing your view on it."

He paced a bit. "I think I should stay here. Do you know anything about Velistara? I mean, the first time she walked the world?" He turned to look at her. "When she was a pale blue dragon, I mean…"

"No," Xander told him.

"She was known in the Tevinter Imperium as the incarnation of Compassion," he said. "Her teachings were of compassion, of togetherness with nature, and of reaching out to those in need or in pain."

He walked over behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I think that she should be allowed to teach humanity again. To that end, I would like to stay here with her, and hopefully other Gray Wardens will come to help protect her. I would like to open the fortress to those who wish to seek her teachings."

Xander's face had cleared more and more as Alistair spoke. "That's a capital idea!" he said, jumping up from his seat. "Fabulous!" He looked around. "What say you?"

The room erupted in cheers and conversation, and he turned towards Alistair. "But who will be Warden Commander at the Arling?"

"I would say that Terrinz has what it takes," Alistair said. "He's been a staunch ally and an excellent fighter. I think he's capable of not only leading, but of training them, as well."

"Terrinz!" Xander bellowed.

"Yeah boss?" he responded.

"You've been nominated as Warden Commander. Think you can hack it?"

"I… what? Really?"

"Yeah. But don't blame me, this was Alistair's idea."

"I'm honored! I mean… thank you!" he turned to Alistair and pumped his hand happily.

Alistair grinned and handed him the Commander's badge.

"Well, that eagerness'll be gone within a week," Xander said dryly.

"Yep," Alistair agreed.

"So, what say you?" he asked Velistara. "Will you teach us?"

"It will be my honor," she said. "But truly, I must rest now, if I may."

He realized she was exhausted, and made their excuses. He led her up to her room, where he stayed and curled up in the bed with her, glad they'd taken their baths before the big talk in the common room.

He awoke in the Fade, curled up in the sun beside the pool. He looked up to see her splashing there, and realized that everything was larger than before. Which seemed rather opposite, since he was larger, it should have been smaller.

"It shifts to accommodate your desire," she reminded him.

He stood up, spreading his wings and grinning at her. He started stalking towards her, and she backed away, sensing his playful mood.

With a sudden lunge, she leaped into the sky, and he lurched up after her. They fled across the landscape, though he caught up to her easily, as she was weary from the ordeal of the last few days.

Dropping down, he found that natural instincts rose within him, and he managed to grapple her this time without claws and without snaring their wings.

Surprised, she dipped slightly, and he pulled her up and away from a treetop.

Then, he proceeded to show her that they could, indeed… do that… in the Fade in dragon form. When they were done, they were immediately back at the pool, with simply a thought.

"I may never get used to that," he told her, curling up beside her, licking her affectionately on the shoulder.

Her song swelled and roared with happiness.

"I have a question," he told her.

"I will answer it, if I can," she said.

He looked away, looking into the shimmering rainbows of the waterfall. "I'm a dragon now. At least here, anyway. You're the dragon of Compassion. Urthemiel was the dragon of Beauty. I wonder what my attribute is."

"Justice, of course," she told him. "After all, shouldn't Justice always be tempered by compassion?"

"Justice, huh? I can live with that." That wasn't half bad, he decided.


	27. The Best Laid Plans

**Part 27: The Best Laid Plans**

Alistair was half-asleep. He'd spent the day before drilling the new White Warden recruits, and he was worn out. He decided he'd just go and do some meditation in the new building they'd put in to grow vegetables. They called it the sun room, though it was really a modified greenhouse.

Apparently, according to one of the Tranquil who had come to assist them, dragon feces made for the best of fertilizers.

Alistair didn't want to know how they figured that out.

He dressed lightly in breeches and a tunic, padding along the corridors in soft boots. He dashed the short distance to the sunroom, and found one of the comfortable benches spread throughout it.

Before long, he found himself drifting into that clear, fluid state between sleep and wakefulness. He pondered on being a dragon, wondering what the greater purpose in it had been.

He fell deeper into meditation, and began to reflect on what he might teach, if he were really a dragon of Justice, not only in the fade.

Then he realized he was trapped. His wings were crammed against him, and his head was wedged tightly into something that smelled like roses and… shit.

With a bellow, he jerked himself free, thrashing and jerking until glass shattered and he could open his eyes.

He found himself standing in the middle of the decimated sunroom with his wings tucked awkwardly up into the air and his head under a walkway because he was wedged into the courtyard.

"Vel…is…tar...uh!" he shouted mentally. "You said it was only in the Fade and now I'm stuck!"

People were running out of the fortress already, staring and pointing in awe at the massive golden dragon that seemed, to their way of thinking, to have appeared out of nowhere.

"Well," Velistara said, standing in her human form with her hands on her hips. "I guess I was wrong."

Alistair growled at her. "That's no help! Get me out of here!"

"You will have to go into hibernation again," she explained.

"Meditation," he said.

"As you say," was the answer.

He scowled again. "I'm stuck, how am I supposed to meditate when I'm stuck?"

"You will figure it out. If it is any consolation, it is easier in your dragon form."

He growled at her again. "You're heartless sometimes. Which is pretty bad for the so-called Dragon of Compassion."

"I am practical, Alistair." But her grin gave the lie to her words.

Alistair focused and soon found himself slipping into that pre-sleep state again. He shifted back to his normal form and stood up, glaring at his wife. "Figure it out, will I?" he asked, ignoring the gaping people around them.

"I didn't know!" she said. Then as he started towards her, she picked up her skirts and fled towards the fortress with a squeal.

"They're like children," one of the Tranquil said.

"Yeah," one of the White Warden initiates said. "It's awesome!"

And so began the Order of the White Wardens… devoted to Justice tempered by Compassion.

It hadn't turned out the way they expected… it was even better.


End file.
